To the Abbey Born
by thebarefootflapper
Summary: For 400 years, Downton Abbey has been home to the Crawley family but all that is about to change when mounting debt sees the house sold at auction and plans made to turn it into a lavish hotel, much to the disgust of the locals. However, a startling discovery made by the new owner about his secret family history may in fact prove to be a blessing in disguise... Modern!MM
1. A Single Man

_**So, I'm back with more Modern!MM - I haven't really written these two since the Christmas Special of Doom and, truth be told, I've missed it. This story has been inspired by the classic British sitcom 'To the Manor Born' which is absolutely fabulous and you really must watch it if you haven't already. The first few chapters will therefore be quite similar to those early episodes, just to establish the characters and the basic plot, but, hopefully, it should develop a life of its own and I hope you'll enjoy it. I will be carrying on with my Sybil x Tom angst-fest, Something There That Wasn't There Before, and the muse for Justice Though The Heavens Fall has bitten me again, but I just think we all need a good, light-hearted summer romcom. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

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**Chapter One - A Single Man In Posession of a Good Fortune**

The Reverend Travis slowly walks up the gravel path of the churchyard, watching with an intense curiosity as the sleek black Range Rover Sport comes to a halt just outside the gate, a young man, not one he's ever seen around these parts before, climbing out of the driver's seat and flashing him a charming smile.

"Excuse me," he asks, his voice well-spoken but with no real distinct accent. "Is this Downton? My sat-nav seems to have stopped working and I can't be sure."

"It is," replies Travis, wondering what business the stranger could have in these parts.

"Oh good," he replies. "I'm looking for a place called Crawley House."

"It's not too far away," says the Vicar, pointing to a charming little house opposite the church. "Just across the road here."

"Thank you," says the stranger. "You wouldn't happen to know who owns it, would you?"

Travis nods. "It's been owned by the Crawley family for generations. They live up at the Abbey which used to the ancestral seat of the Earl of Grantham, but that line died out long ago. A Mr Robert Crawley was the most recent to live there with his family and it forms part of his estate."

"And can I find him up there now?"

"I'm afraid you won't," Travis replies. "He died last month."

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew can't remember the last time he set foot in the countryside - a rather disastrous caravan holiday in North Wales when he was ten had put him off for life. It had done nothing but rain and it was freezing, though one can't really expect anything else of the great British summertime. His mother, on the other hand, was a different story and had grown up in rural Yorkshire before going off to train as a nurse and joining the army medical corps. It was whilst serving out in Northern Ireland that she had met Matthew's father, an army doctor, and had followed him to Manchester where they had built a life for themselves and raised their little family. Isobel Crawley had always desired to retire out to the country and, now that her son was doing very well for himself, he had vowed to surprise her and make that dream a reality. Matthew's mother had been there through him through absolutely everything and never in his life can he recall meeting a stronger woman...

It's about time he gave something back.

Locking his car (hired, of course, for there's no need for something so obscene in the city), he crosses the road and makes his way over to the house that is the object of his desires. Standing at the gate, Matthew gets a good look at the property for the first time - it's peaceful, quaint and he could see his mother being very happy here. Checking his watch, he sighs as he realises that the estate agent he'd arranged to meet here is late, which is potentially quite problematic as he's due back in Manchester by four for a meeting at his office and there's still a stack of untouched paperwork on his desk that needs going through before then. After what seems like an age, the man in question arrives and Matthew can already tell that the two of them are not going to get along - he's your stereotypical estate agent, the smart suit and the cheeky-chappy smile, no doubt about to turn up the charm offensive in order to persuade him into making an offer.

"Sorry," he apologises. "Traffic coming out of York was a nightmare. I'm Alfie Nugent from Hampson and Hughes, You must be Mr Crawley?"

Matthew nods. "Yes," he replies, beginning to regret his bright idea of thinking that viewing the house and then returning to work would be easy - he's tired already, having been up at the crack of dawn and then been sat in traffic on the M62 on a freezing winter's morning in a car so unnecessarily hi-tech that he couldn't figure out how to turn the air conditioning off and put the heating on. "Shall we just get straight to it?"

"If that's what you wish, Sir," says Alfie, reaching into his pocket for the keys. "If you'd like to follow me."

The last room the young Mr Nugent (who doesn't look old enough to have finished his GCSEs, let alone be selling houses) takes him into is the drawing room, a small but well lit room painted a delicate shade of pale blue with a beautiful view out over the snow covered garden, even if it does look a little overgrown having been neglected since the last owners moved out.

"A great place to raise a family," says the estate agent who, sure enough, has been over friendly in the hope of securing a sale. "Low crime rates, friendly neighbourhood and some good schools in Ripon, the next town which is about a twenty minute drive away."

Matthew nods. "I'm sure it would be, but I'm not looking for a family home," he says. "It's a gift for my mother."

"Very generous, Sir."

"It's not generous," Matthew replies. "She deserves it and I hope she'll be very happy here."

Alfie's face lights up at this prospect. "Does that mean you're interested?"

"Yes, I'm very interested," he says. "Though I'll need to give it some thought and consider other possibilities. How much do you know about the family who own it now?"

"Not much," replies Alfie. "At least not personally. My aunt used to work up at the Big House and said that, on the whole, they were nice enough. Pretty ordinary despite being filthy rich... They're called Crawley too, are you related?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, it's just a coincidence and the name of this house was what drew me to it," he replies. "I have no other family besides my mother. Did the late Mr Crawley have any children?"

"Three daughters."

"Good," says Matthew. "Then at least the rest of the estate's staying within the family."

**_-xxx- _**

The last thing Mary could ever have expected at this time of the morning was a visit from her solicitor. Well, he was the family solicitor and a close friend of her father's, but since the house and much of the estate had passed to her under the terms of his will, she was dealing with George Murray quite frequently these days.

"It's not like you to make house calls unless it's for a very good reason," she says, pouring them both a cup of tea.

The solicitor smiles in thanks. "Actually," he replies. "It's bad... very bad, I'm afraid. The estate is bankrupt... there is no money left beyond what's been set aside for the pecuniary legacies left to your mother and sisters."

Mary's jaw drops. "None at all?"

"Not a penny. There will still be a great debt left to pay even after you sell the place."

"Sell the Abbey?!" she exclaims. "Are you mad?"

Murray shakes his head. "I wish it were different, I really do, but your father's creditors are insisting on it."

"Does Mama know? I know that he didn't vex her with most things, but this is hardly some little detail that can just be overlooked."

"Im not sure she did," he replies. "That's something you'll have to take up with her."

"I know Papa liked a little flutter every now and then," she says. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that he loved his horse racing and some of his business ventures were a little risky but... how could he possibly have lost all the money?"

Murray says nothing and just takes a long drink of his tea.

"There's something you're not telling me."

"There are several things I'm not telling you," replies the solicitor. "Several things that I can't tell you."

"Please."

"No," he replies. "My retainer continues even though your father has passed and, as such, I remain bound by my duty of confidentiality to my client."

Mary huffs. "Is there no way that we can keep the Abbey?" she asks after a moment of silence.

"You could raise the money to buy it back."

"We'll do that then," she says with a determined smile. "How much would we need?"

Murray exhales as he gives the matter some thought. "It's difficult to put a price on a property such as this. My guess would be a starting price of around five-and-a-half million."

"Five-and-a-half million?" Mary repeats, feeling as though her bubble has just been well and truly burst. "Gosh, I don't think even **my** credit card has a limit that high."

"You could take your mother's advice and marry well..."

"Yes, because a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife," she replies, quoting one of her favourite books. "Oh really, Mr Murray, this is the twenty-first century, there's no room for such archaic notions. I **will** do this, I **will** get the money, and I'll do it without the need for a man to come to my rescue." She smiles to herself, noticing just how much she sounds like her youngest sister.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck with your venture, Miss Crawley," says Murray as he gets to his feet. "But I must be getting back to my office.

He departs then, leaving Mary with an awful lot of food for thought.

**_-xxx-_**

Many years ago, Downton's last serving butler had been a man named Carson. After he retired, he and his family had remained in the village and, even to this day, were still close acquaintances of the Crawley family, the Earl having been incredibly generous to the man who had run his household. Nowadays, a Mr Charles Carson runs the local tea shop that has been the cornerstone of the village for as long as he can remember - it's not much but, for somewhere as small as Downton, it is a hive of activity, the place where gossip circulates and which sees the whole spectrum of human life pass through its doors. Ever since they were little girls, the three Crawley sisters have been coming here and, despite employing Sybil, the youngest, to bake during the holidays when she's home from university, Carson would have to be honest and say that Mary was his favourite, and the young woman held a very special place in his heart. Even to Mary, he's been like some sort of beloved uncle, and she's been grateful for his company in the month since her father died.

Despite it often being busy, Mary feels too nostalgic to work up at the Abbey and so she has taken to sitting at her favourite table by the window, a seemingly bottomless mug of tea and a recent copy of the estate's accounts in front of her as she aggressively punches numbers into her calculator, trying to find as much spare cash as she can to reclaim her own home. Another cup of tea is placed on the table and she looks up to see Carson's concerned face watching her.

"On me, Miss Mary,"

"Oh Carson," she says, her lips curling up into a smile. "I'm not completely destitute just yet."

The older man chuckles. "An act of kindness rather than charity," he says. "How much are you up to?"

Mary sighs and leans back in her chair. "Nowhere near enough," she replies.

"I wish I could help," says Carson. "But all my savings are tied up in the shop..."

"Oh no," Mary cuts in. "I could never ask that of you anyway. No, I've been looking through our family tree trying to find out if we have any other family who might be willing to help us out though, so far, I've come up with nothing. I did find that my great-grandfather had a younger son who went off and continued his line of the family, but they don't appear to be of any great wealth and of little consequence to me."

"You've tried your best, Miss Mary," Carson replies. "And nobody can ask for more than that."

"I can... my family can... I'm going to lose our home, Carson," she says tearfully. "What am I going to do?"

"When is the auction?"

"Tuesday."

"Then I think this calls for a rather large slice of cake."

**_-xxx-_**

Mary sits on the edge of her mother's bed - or what will be her mother's bed until the gavel is slammed and nothing in this house belongs to them anymore - looking forlorn as she watches Cora fix her hair in the mirror.

"I'm sorry, Mama," she says quietly. "I feel like this is all my fault."

Cora stops what she's doing and turns to her daughter, a mix of sadness and sympathy written across her face - a face which now seems so much older than it did a month ago."Oh my sweet girl," she says, sitting down beside her eldest daughter and taking her hands in her own. "None of this is your fault, absolutely none of it. Your father made some stupid mistakes and now we're the ones paying the price. He left you caught between a rock and a hard place and you did the best you could with what little resources you had. It's not as though we're homeless, especially now that you've taken Crawley House off the market..."

"Yes and the estate agents weren't very happy about it," she replies. "Apparently a gentleman was close to putting in an offer and he's not impressed that he now can't have the place."

"Well being close to putting in an offer and actually doing it isn't the same thing," says Cora. "It's still ours, and that's where we'll go until everything is settled."

"What is it you say? Everything will look better in the morning..."

"I say it because it's usually true."

"Well I don't see how this time... this time we have to watch as our house is sold off to some stranger from God knows where."

**_-xxx-_**

It's over in next to no time. It's like ripping off a plaster - supposedly quick and painless but it gets caught on a stray leg hair and all you can do is scream. The purchaser won't get much change out of six million and, as the auctioneer bangs down his gavel, Mary feels as though her whole world has just been shattered into thousands of tiny pieces, her heart breaking in the process.

"So we don't live here any more... it's the end of an era," she says to nobody in particular. "Four-hundred years of Crawley family history burnt to ashes before our eyes. You watch, he's probably a Sheikh or something who had a bit of spare change rattling around after buying a football club."

"Your full name please, Sir," the auctioneer calls out as Mary glances around the room trying to figure out who the new owner of her beloved home could possibly be. As it turns out, she needn't have worried about it becoming a holiday home for a Middle-Eastern millionaire, but the reality is set to become much more perplexing.

"Crawley," a voice calls out from somewhere near the back. "Matthew Reginald Crawley."


	2. As One Door Closes

_**Thank you so much for the amazing response to the first chapter - it's encouraged me to get this one out as quickly as I can. I really have missed writing Modern!MM, but sometimes you just need the muse to bite. I'm not sure when I'll be able to do another update because I've got a busy few weeks coming up. Lots of mystery surrounding Matthew, his money and why he's not entirely happy with his life, but I don't intend to reveal it just yet - all that is to come as his relationship with Mary develops. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

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**Chapter Two - As One Door Closes...**

**Two Weeks Earlier**

Matthew curses as he reads the email sent to him by his estate agent - everything had been sorted and he was about to place an offer on Crawley House but, apparently, the new owner had requested that the property be taken off the market that very morning with no explanation given. That was something which he knew would manage to put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day and though perhaps lunch with one of his old university friends who had found himself on business in Manchester would be just what he needed after a rough couple of days in the office.

Duncan Hamilton had come into Matthew's life during their first term at Oxford several years ago. The pair had become fast friends, playing together on the college rugby team and partaking in the odd bit of rowing. Following their graduation, Matthew had gone to London to take the Legal Practice Course and chase his long standing ambition of becoming a solicitor, whilst Duncan had returned to his native Scotland and opened up a couple of small hotels in both Glasgow and Edinburgh, boutique bed and breakfasts which proved popular with young professionals looking for city breaks and such. It was rare that the pair got to see each other, especially considering how hectic Matthew's life had been of late and relocating back up north after accepting a new job in Manchester. He'd been born in the city, living in one of the many suburbs during his early years before his family had moved to Cheadle Hulme in Cheshire and he'd attended the local, and very well respected, public school. His parents origins were humble, but they had both worked incredibly hard in their chosen careers and had wanted to give their son the very best start in life, sending him to all the right schools whilst, at the same time, teaching him the value of money and he'd started his first job when he was fifteen. Before then, Matthew had always thought that he wanted to go into medicine like his mother and father, but it had been those hours spent assisting the clerks in a set of chambers in the city during the school holidays that had sparked his interest in the legal profession. A friend of his father's, a barrister who practiced in said chambers, had managed to get him the position for which the young man was eternally grateful. The barrister had been something of a mentor to Matthew, and he'd been absolutely devastated by his death last year, though what he could never had anticipated in a million years was to have received a rather substantial portion of the late gentleman's fortune...

A fortune he's not entirely sure what he should do with.

The city's famous Christmas market is in full swing when the pair meet in the middle of St Anne's square, deciding on a charming little Greek deli on Deansgate for a long overdue catch-up - the place is always crowded and, luckily, they manage to find two seats by the window.

"I've had an idea," says Duncan as they tuck into a mezze platter each. "I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I really feel like I'm onto something."

Matthew smirks. "I'll think you're crazy because your ideas usually are."

"Touché," Duncan chuckles. "No, I want to expand the business... diversify a little, so to speak. Country house hotels have made a massive comeback recently, especially since that massive period drama started on the telly, do you know which one I mean?"

"Vaguely," replies Matthew - that's a lie, his mother is obsessed and keeps trying to get him to watch it but he insists that it's really not his kind of thing. "But won't you need to find a country house first?"

"Already found one," he says. "Well, I've found one that I like; it's going up at auction soon. I also need a business partner..."

Matthew glances up to see his friend giving him that look - the one he always gives him when he wants something from him. "No... no, no, no."

"Oh, come on," Duncan pleads. "We talked about doing something like this once."

"Yes, on a very drunken night in Oxford when we were, what? Nineteen?" Matthew replies. "Besides, I can't just give up my job..."

"Oh please," his friend interrupts. "You hate your job. You said it yourself; you're no more than a glorified paralegal, not since..." Duncan goes quiet then when he sees Matthew tightly clench his fist turning his knuckles white. "Well, you know what I mean. Besides, you've been saying you don't know what to do with the old man's money, so call this an investment... three million each will get us this perfect place over in Yorkshire."

"Three million!" Matthew exclaims before sighing wearily. "I still don't understand why you need me though, considering you've been doing very well on your own."

"Because it's all getting a bit... much," Duncan replies. "I need someone who understands commercial property and business law. My solicitors can't help me because, obviously, this place is in England... you do the legal stuff and I'll do the logistics. It'll be brilliant... trust me."

"That's the problem," replies Matthew dryly. "I do trust you."

"So you'll think about it?"

Matthew sighs. "Send me the details and I'll look into things... though I can't make any promises."

"Brilliant!" says Duncan, almost choking as he swallows and olive whole. "Just the fact that you're considering it is good enough. I think you'll like the place, it's called Downton Abbey and..."

"Downton Abbey?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"No reason," Matthew replies, finishing off the last of his coffee. "Like I said, I'll let you know as soon as I've made a decision. Now, as much as I'd love to stay here all afternoon, some of us have to get back to work."

With that, the two friend go their separate way for the time being but it's not long before their paths will cross again. Another hellish afternoon back at his office is the final straw - his father had always taught him that, if he wasn't happy about something, he shouldn't just sit back and put up with it in the hope that it would all go away, but to be proactive and do something to change it. Duncan was right - he hates what his job has become and, perhaps, the time is right for him to seek pastures new. That very same day, he tenders his resignation and, a fortnight later, he is the joint owner of a country estate in Yorkshire...

**_-xxx-_**

Of all the days for a train to be late, Sybil Crawley's had to pick today - she had promised her mother and sister that she would get the first train back to Downton as soon as she possibly could, but a fault on the line just outside of Newcastle had delayed her arrival in York and she'd ended up missing her connection. Sybil was a third year medical student at Edinburgh, the youngest of the three sisters and the one closest to home now that Edith was working in Paris. She and Mary had been close ever since they were very young and so she had decided that she needed to be there for her sister and their mother today as they watched the home they adored so much sold at auction. Sybil liked Downton, especially at Christmas and in the spring when the roses would begin to bloom, but she was nowhere near as fond of the place as Mary or as her father had been.

"Have I missed it?" she asks, blustering in through the door, treading snow from her battered old Docs through the grand hall as she falls into her mother's outstretched arms. "Is it done?"

Mary nods, barely able to say a word as the reality of the situation hits her. "It's done."

Sybil sighs. "I'm so sorry," she says. "I promised I'd be here and I let you down..."

"Darling, it's not your fault," her sister replies with the faintest hint of a smile. "You don't control the East Coast Mainline."

Cora pushes her youngest daughter's wild curls back behind her ears with their multiple piercings and sighs. "You're far too skinny," she says, as most mothers have a habit of doing upon seeing their children after a prolonged absence. "Are you eating properly?"

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Mama, really," she says. "Whether or not I'm eating properly which, just for the record, I am really is the least of your worries right now. This isn't about me... this is about you... about our family."

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a male voice says from behind the trio. "But I just thought I'd come and offer my condolences."

Mary turns on her heel, recognising the voice to be that of the man who had just purchased the Abbey. "Condolences?" she snaps. "For what? Waltzing in here, flashing your cash around a bit and snatching the roof from over my family's head? Oh, I'm sure you're very sorry about that."

"Mary," Cora chides. "Don't be so rude."

"I'm not being rude," she replies. "I just can't believe that the gentleman could have the audacity to say such a thing."

Matthew raises his hands in surrender and shakes his head. "I assure you, Miss Crawley, I meant no offence," he says. "I was actually offering my condolences in respect of your father. I understand that his passing must have come as a terrible shock to you all."

"You know nothing of it."

"Mary!"

"Mama, please," Mary replies abruptly.

"If there's anything I can do..."

Now he's really overstepped the mark and Mary can't remember the last time she ever felt so angry. "How dare you," she says. "How dare you take my home from me, having no doubt become aware of all the gossip that's circulating about my father and the kind of man that he was, taking advantage of our misfortune and then trying to act the hero by asking if there's anything you can do to help? I would bid you good day but, quite frankly, I couldn't care less and I hope never to cross paths with you again." She storms off then, managing to retain all the grace and elegance befitting her aristocratic heritage and even Matthew is bewitched by the sway of her hips and the way she flicks her long dark hair over her shoulder. Cora excuses herself and follows after her eldest daughter, leaving Sybil behind to deal with the damage control.

"I'm so sorry," she apologises. "This whole saga has been incredibly stressful for her. She's not always like that... she's actually very nice."

"I'm sure she is," Matthew replies. "And it's fine, honestly. I can imagine that none of this has been easy for her... for any of you, really."

Sybil nods. "Ever since she learnt that she was one day to become Downton's mistress, she's vowed that she would do our ancestors proud and make the place thrive again. This house holds many fond memories for all of us and my sister adores it. Just make sure you treat it with the love and respect it deserves."

"I will," Matthew vows, knowing that the elder Miss Crawley most certainly will not approve of what he and Duncan plan to do with the place. "And I really am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr?"

"Crawley," he tells her. "Matthew Crawley."

"Crawley?" Sybil asks, her brow furrowing as she tries to decipher whether or not she's just heard him right.

"Crawley," Matthew replies. "No relation though, I assure you. It's just all a rather spooky coincidence."

**_-xxx-_**

The house is still theirs for another ninety days - until the movers come in and everything is taken away to be disposed of or put into storage. Still, although all their belongings are there, it still seems odd lingering like the ghosts of old who still linger in the hallways.

"Matthew Crawley," Mary says, pacing up and down the small library. "He may be a Crawley by name, but can you really see him as lord of the manor?"

"Actually," says Sybil with a dreamy smile as she stirs her tea. "I can."

"Oh really, Sybil," Mary says with a roll of her eyes. "Don't tell me you've already fallen for his charm and boyish good looks."

Sybil shakes her head. "I haven't, trust me. He's not my type," she smiles. "I didn't mean it like **that** though, of course I'm not happy about the fact that we've lost Downton, but he does look the part and he assures me that he'll look after the place."

"You're too trusting of people," her sister says. "It's both a fault and a virtue."

"Perhaps," Sybil shrugs. "But at least you admit that he's good looking."

"I never said that... god knows what he plans to do with the place. The knowledge and ability to run an estate like this isn't just something that you can buy, it's in the blood... **our **blood... and, more to the point, what am I supposed to do now? I have no real qualifications and this is what I've been trained to do my entire life. It's not exactly like Downton is buzzing with career opportunities."

"You could always ask..."

"Don't," she interrupts. "Do not say that I could always ask Edith." Edith is an art dealer with galleries in a couple of Britain's major cities and has recently expanded her business over to the continent. She has a keen eye for old treasures and future classics, as well as a knack for promoting emerging young talent and finding the next big thing. On top of that, she also works as a freelance critic for some of the broadsheets and other specialist publications, quite often being invited to exclusive viewings, essentially being paid to drink champagne and mingle with various celebrities in exchange for her opinion on the paintings. She'd invited her sisters along once or twice, but had told them never again when Mary and Sybil had spent much of one evening stalking Dominic Cooper and Tom Hiddleston around the Royal Academy.

"But I'm sure she'd be happy to give you something to do in London," Sybil replies. "She's based in Paris now and she keeps saying that things are so busy here in her absence."

"You're a darling," Mary sighs. "But you obviously forget that Edith and I aren't the closest of siblings and she'd love nothing more than to rub the fact that I've failed in my face... perhaps she and this Mr Crawley will get on well."

"Perhaps that might have been the case once," replies Sybil. "But Edith's changed now. Finding her independence has done her the world of good and surely, at a time like this, we need solidarity and not to be fighting among our own ranks. She's just as devastated about this whole thing as the rest of us are, and she doesn't hate you... she loves you dearly as I know you do her. You just have a funny way of showing it to each other."

Mary can't help but laugh then - she adores the way that Sybil has such a bubbly and youthful joie de vie about her and yet she quite often comes across as being wise beyond her years. She honestly doesn't know what she'd do without her sister, and just having her around again for a few days is going to do Mary the world of good. "We've always been like that," she says. "Ever since before you were born. Now, come on, I don't want to hear another word said about Matthew Crawley, the future of Downton or anything else for that matter... I just want to crack open a bottle of wine and get drunk watching rubbish telly with my favourite sister."

Sybil likes that idea very much indeed.

**_-xxx-_**

Mary sits in the teashop one afternoon a couple of weeks later, flicking through the local county council's website on her iPad. As Downton's custodian, her responsibilities would have expanded beyond the confines of the grand house and its grounds and right into the village itself - it was her duty, therefore, to keep up to date with goings on in the local area that might be of interest or concern to the residents. She'd been involved in the parish council since she was about fifteen, getting involved in issues that directly affected Downton, and had taken over her father's seat about six months before he had passed away. She loved it and Sybil had called it politics on a very small scale, something she was incredibly proud of her sister for getting involved with and Mary couldn't help but wonder if losing the Abbey would mean that she would have to relinquish that position also, which would be a shame considering how much she enjoyed it and how much of a respected member of the community she had become. Still, all of that is the least of her worries, especially when, just out of curiosity, she clicks on the future developments page and, so utterly shocked is she by what she sees, Mary almost spills her tea all over her dress...

Planning permission has been granted to turn Downton into a luxury hotel.


	3. Moving Forward

_**Once again, thank you for the amazing response to this fic - it's quite a fun one to write and I'm glad you guys seem to enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it. I have an idea of where I'm going with it but I've recently been offered my first full time job which involves a big relocation so I'm not sure how much time I'm going to have to write once I start. Anyway, onto the next chapter and it's all change at Downton. Just a quick note about a change I made to the last chapter - I went back and fixed it so that they had ninety days left in the house before Matthew and Duncan took over (it seemed like the easiest way to move time forward a bit). Enjoy and let me know what you think! :) x**_

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**Chapter Three - Moving Forward  
**

**March**

For the older generations of Downton, change isn't really a welcome thing - they can cope with minor amendments, keeping up with technology and such, but anything too drastic is most certainly frowned upon. When the plans to turn Downton into a county house hotel had been made public, there had been an outcry and they'd begged the county council to reverse the decision - petitioning them and bombarding them with hundreds of letters and near constant phone calls - but it had been to no avail. Those in favour of the development had argued that it was beneficial to the local economy - creating jobs and bringing more visitors into the area. Sybil had once joked that the village was like Royston Vasey, with a local shop for local people and outsiders were not to be trusted. Of course, it wasn't that dramatic, Downton was just a very close knit community and the same families had lived there for generations - everyone was lovely, but the place just lacked... variety.

Topic of conversation in the tea shop between Carson and two of his oldest friends, a Mrs Beryl Patmore, retired owner of a small catering business, and Mrs Elsie Hughes, a widow from Argyll who had moved to the village many years ago with her husband and who hadn't had the heart to leave after his death, turns to the new owner of the Abbey and the fate of the Crawley's who currently live there.

"Never did I think I'd see the day when the last of that family left the place," says Carson with a weary sigh. "And what are we to do with a spa hotel?"

"I don't think it's meant for us," replies Mrs Hughes.

"No," agrees Mrs Patmore. "I should hope not... though I can't say the thought of this village overcrowded with people who have more money than sense isn't exactly appealing either."

Mrs Hughes rolls her eyes. "It's hardly Glastonbury..."

"That'll be next."

"It's the girls I feel for the most," says Carson. "The younger two not so much, they have their own lives away from here, but it's all a terrible shame for Miss Mary. She's devoted more than half her life to Downton, only to see it sold off just as she inherited what was and always will be rightfully hers."

Mrs Hughes smiles. "You always have had a soft spot for that woman," she says. "Personally, I find her to be a bit of an uppity minx but each to their own I suppose."

"What do we know about the new owner?" asks Mrs Patmore. "He hasn't been seen since the auction."

"Matthew Crawley is a solicitor from Manchester," replies Carson. "It was a joint purchase between him and his business partner, but I don't know anything about him."

"Crawley? Surely he has to be related?"

"Apparently not," the shopkeeper replies. "But I wouldn't be surprised if there was more to him than meets the eye."

**_-xxx-_**

It's amazing what one finds when doing a proper clearout and, in a house as big as Downton Abbey, there are hundreds of old memories lying around the place just waiting to be rediscovered.

Unpacking an old suitcase she'd found in one of the many spare bedrooms, Edith can't help but smile as she uncovers a stack of old photographs. "Come and have a look at these," she says, beckoning her sisters over.

Sybil gasps as she takes one of them from Edith's pile. "I remember this," she whispers, suddenly feeling incredibly emotional - the photograph is black and white, taken on the beach at Scarborough when the girls were young. Sybil can't have been much older than four and the three of them were held lovingly in the arms of their parents, crouched down close to the sand, smiling and laughing without a care in the world. "We used to go every summer the weekend before school started."

Mary nods. "Whatever the weather, Papa would insist on it. Sometimes we'd drive, others we'd get the train..."

"We had such a happy childhood," Edith sighs. "Where did it all go wrong?"

"Wrong?" Sybil asks with a furrowed brow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Think about it," she replies. "Mary and I spent our teenage years at each other's throats, Mama and Papa's marriage very nearly broke down and now this..."

"But, on the whole," Mary cuts in. "I suppose it could have been worse. As Sybil is forever pointing out, there are those who have it much worse than us. This is a new chapter in all of our lives, in Downton's life, and we need to stick together because I actually have no idea what's going to happen next... so let us love each other now, as sisters should." Then, for the first time in so many years, the three of them share an embrace which is genuinely loving and affectionate instead of forced or half hearted. Pulling apart, they resume their tasks whilst continuing to share some of their fondest childhood memories.

Cora pauses outside of the room where she can hear her three daughters laughing together like they haven't done in such a long time. These past few months have been filled with so much grief that it brings warmth back to her heart to hear such a sound. Eventually, she pokes her head frame of the opened door to get their attention and smiles at the sight of the three of them looking at yet more old photographs, this time discovered by Sybil.

It's almost time for them to leave but, just for the moment, she'll leave them as they are and she's happy that this will be her final memory of life at Downton.

**_-xxx-_**

The plan was simple - after terminating the lease on his Manchester flat, Matthew would move to Yorkshire and live in the Abbey for a month or two whilst Duncan attends to some business in New York (that being the acquisition of a small boutique hotel in the heart of the city that he'd bought on a whim last week, as you do). It would enable them to get a feel for the place and decide what needed to be done before they could start on the renovations - it was an old house and some of the rooms which had gone unused for a very long time had succumbed to damp and were generally just a bit dilapidated. After that, they could bring in the architects and really get the ball rolling. However, what Matthew hadn't planned on was that he would be taking along a houseguest in the form of his mother.

Isobel hadn't been sure how to react when her son had told her that he'd quit his job and was to invest three-million pounds of his inheritance in the hope of renovating an old country house into a luxury hotel and spa. However, when he had confessed that he'd been in the process of trying to purchase her a house in the very same village, she had smiled and insisted that she come along with him to keep him company and to perhaps look for another place that she could call her own, promising him that it would only be temporary. She would be out of his way by the time the builders moved in.

That's the easy part...

Spending a couple hours in a car with her is not.

Perhaps it's just a mother's prerogative, but she insists on grilling him about his life whenever she sees him, even if the last time was only a day before and therefore there hasn't been the chance for new developments to be made. Her latest favourite line of questioning involved her son's love life - Matthew's last relationship hadn't ended in the best of ways and he'd been heartbroken for a very long time. As Isobel kept pointing out, he wasn't yet thirty and yet he was acting as though his love life was completely over. Yes, it would be hard to forget what had happened and the woman who had been such a huge part of his life for so long, but that wasn't to say that he should dwell upon the past.

"It's seems like a nice place," she says as she flicks through the images of the village on Google, using the iPad of Matthew's which she'd finally taught herself how to operate. "And I'm sure there are some lovely young ladies."

"Mother," Matthew chides, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead of him. "I thought you'd agreed not to press the matter."

"I know, but..."

"But, while it did strike me as a place being home to many nice ladies, very few of them appeared to be what you'd class as being young. Besides, I've already offended one of the few who is so that narrows the pool down even further."

"Oh Matthew," Isobel replies in that very motherly way that all children recognise as a universal sign that a parent is disappointed. "How have you managed that?"

"I bought half of her house."

**_-xxx-_**

Eventually, Mary ends up unplugging the phone in the study, for there are only so many phone calls she can deal with involving people phoning up and asking whether they can book a wedding or something about six years from now. That had been one of the many ways in which they'd brought money into the estate - renting out fields and some of the converted outhouses to host events and parties - and getting involved in the planning of it and helping the hosts to have their perfect day was something Mary had really enjoyed, especially when it came to the day itself and seeing the smiles on everyone's faces and hearing how much they were enjoying themselves had given her a sense of pride and achievement as she knew that she had had a hand in making everything so wonderful for them. Perhaps that was something she should consider now that she had nothing else to do with her time - party planning. She liked to be in control of things and had inherited her mother's creative flare, and so she made a mental note to research the matter further once this mess was all sorted out.

However, for now, the people she once would have jumped at the chance to help are driving her mad.

She'd actually pay very good money to watch the mild mannered Mr Crawley deal with them...

Very good money which she once again realises she doesn't have.

A couple of minutes later, Sybil appears at the door wearing an old pith hat that she's found God knows where.

"What on earth have you got on your head?"

"Found it," she shrugs. "Edith and I were messing around upstairs. There's some great stuff up in the attics you know."

"I know," Mary replies. "We used to play up there when we were little. We'd dress up in all the old clothes and build dens out of boxes. Mama used to bring us sandwiches."

"I remember," Sybil tells her. "Gosh, I've been using that phrase a lot today, though I suppose it's true. You forget how many memories you have until you come across something that triggers them. I'll miss this place, I really will, and sometimes I wish we could go back to being those three little girls again."

Mary smiles fondly at her little sister and reaches out to pull the hat off her head. "Never change, Sybil, promise me that."

"Why?"

"Because you have the kindest and purest heart of anyone I've ever met," she replies. "And if you do change then I really will lose all faith in humanity."

Sybil reaches out and takes hold of Mary's free hand, squeezing it tightly and smiling back at the woman she has always admired so much. "Come on," she says. "The movers are here... it's time."

**_-xxx-_**

Both Mary and Cora had decided that it would be a good idea for them to move into Crawley House for the time being - it would keep them in the village, close to the friends who were almost like part of their extended family and who had been wonderful to them in recent months when it had felt like everything was falling apart around them. They would have time to figure out what they were going to do and see that the proper arrangements could be put into place should they decide to leave. It was only really now that Mary was beginning to regret not managing to persuade her father to hold off on the sale of the old Dower House after her grandmother had passed away several years ago - Mary had always preferred that place to Crawley House, but she supposed that this was better than nothing. If she could just give it a lick of paint and get some new linens and furniture, it would be fine.

Having made them all cups of tea whilst her mother and sisters work on the bedrooms upstairs, Mary takes her own mug and wanders out into the front garden, sitting herself down on a bench which rests up against the side wall of the house and overlooks the churchyard and the village surrounding it. With a weary sigh, she takes in the sight of the overgrown grass and unruly hedges and wonders if they could perhaps hire someone to come in and sort it out - nobody in her family had ever been particularly fond of gardening, though Granny had liked her roses but even then they were grown by somebody else. Her lips curl up into the slightest hint of a smile at the memory of her late grandmother, wondering what she would have made of all of this, though she's distracted by her thoughts when she catches sight of a woman she doesn't recognise walking past the house.

"Hello," the woman calls out, having spotted Mary sitting on the bench. "So this is the house that was very nearly mine."

"Beg your pardon?" Mary asks, getting to her feet and walking towards the gate."

The woman smiles. "Oh, I'm sorry, that was a little abrupt," she says. "My name is Isobel Crawley. My son was going to purchase this house for me as a surprise but the last owners took it off the market at the last minute. He and a friend have just purchased the Abbey."

"Ahhh," says Mary, trying to hide her smirk. Realising that this must be the insufferable gentleman's mother, she decides to use this to her advantage and discover more about the man who has kicked her out of her own home. "Well, in that case, I'm sure a cup of tea wouldn't go amiss?"

"That would be lovely," Isobel replies with yet another smile and Mary can't decide whether or not she's too cheery for her liking.

"Wonderful," Mary says. "Though, do you mind if we have it outside? It's just that we've moved into here today also and it's rather chaotic inside. Besides, it's a lovely day... how do you take your tea?"

"Milk no sugar. It's very kind of you, Miss... err?"

"Levinson," Mary replies, using the alias of her mother's maiden name. "I'll be back in a moment."

**_-xxx-_**

Cora comes down the stairs to find her eldest daughter in the kitchen making up another cup of tea.

"Mary, darling," she asks, quietly so as not to startle her whilst she's pouring the hot water into the mug. "What are you doing?"

"We have a guest," she says. "It's that Mr Crawley's mother."

"His mother?"

Mary nods. "They've just arrived and she seems nice enough. I told her that our name was Levinson so that I can find out a bit more about what we're dealing with. Maybe then I'll find something that I can use."

Cora looks at Mary, slightly confused as to what she's just said. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to come up with a plan," Mary says, turning to face her mother and leaning back against the worktop as she lets the tea brew. "I'm going to get the Abbey back."

"Oh Mary," Cora sighs. "You know that that's practically impossible."

"But not completely," she protests. "If there's even the slightest chance then I'm going to take it. I promise you... it'll be ours again one day."

"Fine... but on your head be it."

**_-xxx- _**

Mary makes her way back out into the garden where she finds Isobel admiring some of the wild flowers which have had the freedom to grow in the absence of anyone to tend to the garden.

"This is a beautiful little village," the older woman says. "Have you moved here from very far?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, not from very far at all. I have family who used to live here though, so the place isn't entirely alien to me."

"And you live here with your partner? A fiancé?"

"No," she half laughs. "I'm here with my mother. My two younger sisters will be here occasionally, but one is at university up in Scotland and the other works in Paris... it'll just be the two of us most of the time."

"Then you must come to dinner at the Abbey sometime," Isobel says. "It'll be nice to have the company considering we're all new together."

Mary forces a smile. "Yes, that will be very nice."

"Oh but you'll have to give us a couple of weeks to settle in," Isobel adds. "The previous owners have left our house in a bit of a state. Seeing as how you're not from around here, I'm sure you won't have heard about what happened. The father apparently ran up a massive debt which wasn't discovered until after his death. The estate was declared bankrupt and sold at auction where my son and his friend bought it. I'm not sure what became of the rest of the family who used to live there, but the eldest daughter was apparently very rude to Matthew."

"I'm sure she had her reasons," Mary says without even thinking. "That's to say, I hear that the people in this village are usually rather nice and polite. It probably wasn't unwarranted..."

"Oh no," Isobel protests. "My Matthew's a perfect gentleman."

"I'm sure he is," replies Mary, cringing a little inside at the fact that he's coming across as being a complete mummy's boy - and that's one of many things she can't stand in a man.

"So, do you work, Miss Levinson?"

Mary shakes her head. "Not currently," she says. "I used to work for my father but... well, things happened and I just don't anymore."

"What is it that your father does?"

"He... he manages properties," she replies, trying to come up with an appropriate word for it without giving too much away. "I was training to take over the family business but, as I said, not anymore."

Isobel smiles. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something soon," she tells her. "You seem like a polite and very intelligent girl. Thank you very much for the tea, but I really must be going... I dread to think what must be going on up there without me."

Mary chuckles. "Never trust men to do anything without the supervision of a woman to see that it's done properly, as my grandmother used to say."

"Your grandmother is a wise woman," replies Isobel. "I'll let you know about coming to dinner. It would be nice to meet the rest of your family."

With that, the two women bid each other farewell though, as she's about to go back inside the house, Mary sees that Isobel has left her scarf on the bench.

Perhaps this would be a good time to return it and introduce herself properly...

**_-xxx-_**

When Isobel returns to the Abbey, she finds her son sitting on the staircase, talking to somebody on a cordless phone and balancing a diary on his knee.

"No, I don't know anything about that," he says with a frown to the person on the other end of the line. "I'm not doing weddings... yes, I am the owner of Downton. One of them anyway... We've just moved here... I'm sorry, I can't help you... Goodbye then." He sighs wearily as he sets the phone and the diary down on the step beside him and looks up at his mother. "This is chaos," he tells her. "Not only do I keep falling over furniture and boxes that have been left, but I plugged the phone back in and now I keep getting telephone calls from people wanting to have their wedding here, farmers asking about an agricultural show and somebody else talking about a ball. I haven't got a clue what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Perhaps you should hire someone to sort it all out for you," Isobel suggests. "Someone who knows a little about the village."

Matthew contemplates this thought for a moment or two. "You know, that's not a bad idea at all. All they'd need to do would be to tell them that this place is changing and so they can't make any more bookings. Perhaps then, once everything's sorted, we could keep them on for a bit whilst we're doing the renovations..."

"I know just the person," his mother says. "A Miss Levinson I just met down in the village. She's a charming young woman and she's just moved here with her mother and sisters. Her family have lived here, so she may know some things that might be helpful. I invited them up to dinner."  
"When?" Matthew asks, rather startled by his mother's revelation.

"Not tonight, you needn't worry about that," she says, seeing him breathe a sigh of relief. "Once we're all sorted. I'd say she was only a couple of years younger than you."

"No, Mother," Matthew groans. "The last thing I need is for people to start pushing their daughters at me. They'll all be fixed on that the second that they hear I'm unmarried and that I've got an awful lot of money." He sighs then and gets to his feet, surveying the house around him. "I can't believe the state this place has been left in and how much Duncan expects me to deal with... it's a joke!"

"I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Both of the Manchester Crawleys turn to see Mary standing there behind them, having managed to slip in past the removal men. "Mrs Crawley, you left your scarf at our house. I just thought that I should come up and return it."

"Aaah, thank you," the older woman says. "That's very kind of you. Matthew, this is..."

"Yes, I know who this is," he replies, his blue eyes meeting Mary's dark ones which stare back at him almost venomously.

"Well I really must be going," Mary says, averting her gaze from Matthew and turning to his mother much more cheerily. "You have a lot to be getting on with," she adds before looking back at her son again...

"And I wouldn't want to push in."


	4. Noblesse Oblige

_**I really am on a roll with my fics this week - I think it's because I know I should be revising for my Property Law and Practice resit so I'm procrastinating something terrible. I am so, so, so excited by where this story is going and I hope you are too. I think I'd describe it as a romantic comedy of errors but what's a good old fashioned M/M romance without a bit of fighting in the beginning? Anna might seem a bit different to how she comes across in canon but, being northern, I think her modern counterpart would have that dry sense of humour that we seem to have up here. This is my favourite chapter so far and I can't wait for you to read it. The response thus far has been incredible so enjoy and please let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

**Chapter Four - Noblesse Oblige  
**

A couple of days later, Mary is taking the dog for a walk when she spots the now familiar black Porsche Cayenne parked up outside of the shops in the village. She doesn't have time to make her escape, and there's no way of avoiding the insufferable Mr Crawley as he steps out of the butchers and calls out to her.

"Hello," she says with a rather forced smile - one of the many things her late grandmother had taught her was the importance of being polite to those you can't stand.

"Hello," Matthew replies as he approaches her. "I didn't know you had a dog."

Mary nods. "She was Papa's pride and joy," she says, watching as Matthew crouches down to fuss over the labrador and scratch behind her ears.

"What's her name?"

"Isis," she replies. "He had a bit of a fascination with the ancient Egyptians. Do you like dogs?"

Matthew shrugs. "They're alright," he says. "Though I'm more of a cat man myself."

Mary frowns. "I don't like cats," she says. "They're sly and fickle... I don't trust them. Besides, dogs are far more loyal and much more fun."

"I don't think you and I will ever find anything that we'll agree on."

Mary cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. "You're wrong," she says. "Because I agree with that."

Matthew laughs. "Look, you and I didn't get off to the best of starts," he says. "So I was wondering if there's somewhere we could go, have a drink or something and start over. Perhaps you could tell me a little about the village?"

She's not entirely sure why she agrees to it, but she finds herself nodding. "I know just the place," she tells him.

"Will the car be alright here?" he asks, putting his purchases into the boot.

"If you're worried that someone's going to steal it then I think you're alright," she replies. "It's positively ghastly. I don't think anyone would want it."

"I thought everyone in the country drove four-by-fours."

This time it's Mary who laughs out loud. "Yes, battered yet reliable old Land Rovers which they use on their farms," she says. "Not some shiny toy that teenage boys fantasise about. You really do have a lot to learn about life outside of the city."

"Then teach me," he begs as he follows her down the road and towards the small teashop that he'd heard his mother mention yesterday. "Seeing as how you seem to know it all."

"No, shan't."

"Please, I... hang on; you can't bring the dog in here."

Mary looks at him over her shoulder as she pushes open the door. "Why?"

"Because it's a cafe. They serve food."

Mary sighs. "One, it's not a cafe, it's a teashop and, two, it doesn't really matter; Carson loves her. As you can probably tell, we're far less fastidious about sticking to the rules as you city folk."

Matthew rolls his eyes and follows her into the teashop, not sure what to make of the quaintness and tradition of it all - he likes open, clean and minimalistic spaces and, thus far, every place he's been to in this village is the polar opposite of how his flat in Manchester had been. It takes him a moment to realise that the man behind the counter who had greeted Mary with a warm and friendly smile is asking him what he'd like. Not sure what else to have, he places his usual order and dips into his pocket for his wallet. "Err, skinny cinnamon latte with an extra shot, please."

Carson looks at Mary, who looks at Matthew and then back to Carson only to see that the bemused look remains on the older man's face. "He'll have tea."

**_-xxx-_**

They take a seat at Mary's usual table by the window, Isis curled up at their feet with her own bowl of water and a biscuit as her mistress and this strange man whom she can't decide whether or not she likes yet are deep in conversation.

"Why were you in the butchers?" she asks. "The Masons said that they'd continue to supply the Abbey."

"Not anymore they don't," says Matthew. "I told them there was no need."

"You did **what**?"

"I told them there was no need to keep supplying us," he repeats. "It's just mother and I for the time being so we're quite capable of doing our own shopping. Besides, Duncan and I will be looking for new suppliers once we open the hotel."

Mary is utterly outraged by this. "But the Masons have been supplying the Abbey since the year dot."

"Actually, it was nineteen-seventy-three."

"That's not the point," Mary replies as she takes a sip of her tea. "The point is that the Abbey has been providing local people with the business they need to thrive for hundreds of years. You can't just waltz in and change all of that at the drop of a hat. These are people who don't like change," she says. "They already abhor the fact that you're turning the place into a hotel and so the least you can do is to keep them involved."

"But this is going to be a five star hotel," Matthew protests. "And, for that reason, we need five star suppliers."

"How do you know they aren't?" Mary asks. "Have you bothered to research that? I suspect you haven't because William Mason often does business with the Yorke Arms near Harrogate which is in fact a Michelin star restaurant. Besides, Downton isn't yet a country house hotel and, while it remains a residential property, **you** are the lord of the manor."

"Lord of the manor?"

"For all intents and purpose, yes," Mary tells him. "It's just a name but, even so, you have an obligation to the people who live here. It's called noblesse oblige..."

"Noblesse what?"

"Noblesse oblige," she repeats. "Basically, you're expected to conduct yourself in a way that is benevolent and honourable, as is the way of someone born of a high rank or nobility."

"But I'm not born of high rank or nobility. I'm a middle-class solicitor from Manchester."

"As I say, it's just a phrase."

Matthew leans back in his chair and stirs some sugar into his tea. "So, are there any perks to being lord of the manor?"

"If you're planning on invoking the right of prima nocte, then I'm afraid you're several hundred years too late," she says. "Though if taking the virginity of another man's wife is your thing then, by all means, do so. What you do in your private life is no concern of mine."

"I may have bought your home from you, but I'm not that barbaric."

"No... you just prefer to take a man's livelihood instead."

Matthew groans and runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry about that, but it's business. I wouldn't expect you to understand just how cut-throat it all is."

Mary laughs bitterly. "Wouldn't expect me to understand? What, because I'm a country simpleton or because I'm a woman?"

"I..."

"I'll have you know that my father involved me in the running of his estate since I was sixteen years old. I studied Accounting and Business Studies as part of my A Levels so that I would have a more academic grasp on the way things work. I could have gone to university, but I didn't... because **this** was what I had been working towards. Do you know how it feels to have something you love taken away from you the way this has all been taken away from me?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," Matthew replies through gritted teeth - he rarely speaks of what happened to those he loves, so he'll be damned if she thinks she's going to get an explanation and so he quickly changes the subject. "Look, I can see that all I've achieved is upsetting you further and I really do apologise. I'm sorry... I didn't mean for any of this to happen but it has and we all must learn to deal with it. My mother is still intent on inviting you and your family up for dinner one evening so I hope to see you there."

"I'll go for your mother's sake," Mary retorts, staring at him over the rim of her teacup. "But not for yours."

Matthew rolls his eyes and finishes the last of his tea before getting to his feet. "I'm going," he says. "I don't want to argue with you anymore. People are staring."

"Quite right too," Mary says with a smile. "This is probably the best entertainment they've had in months."

"Goodbye, Miss Crawley," he adds before taking his leave, Isis growling at him from under the table.

"Good dog," Mary smirks, passing her what remained of the cake Matthew had left uneaten. "Oh, Carson," she sighs as her friend comes into her line of sight. "What on Earth am I going to do?"

**_-xxx-_**

Sure enough, in the first week of April, the invitation arrives from Isobel Crawley for Cora and the girls to join them for dinner up at the Abbey. Sybil is home for the Easter holidays and a week or so of study leave before her exams and so Mary is grateful for the reinforcements. Edith is currently in London and has promised that she'll do her best to get up to Yorkshire but that she can't make any promises.

"Do we really have to go, Mama?" Mary asks in a manner befitting a petulant child as she helps her mother prepare a meal ready for Sybil's imminent arrival.

"Yes, we do," replies Cora. "Besides, I thought you said Isobel was alright."

"She's nice enough," says Mary, tearing up some lettuce leaves for the salad. "But I can't stand the thought of being in a room with her son for an entire evening without wanting to strangle him."

Cora laughs. "Oh, Mary, surely he can't be that bad?"

Mary raises her eyebrows. "You haven't met him," she says. "He's arrogant, self-centred and... ugh... he just drives me mad."

"I saw him in the village the other day though," replies her mother. "He's a good looking man."

"Yes, because that compensates for his many faults."

"You're hardly perfect yourself."

"I know," replies Mary as she steals a carrot from the chopping board. "But at least I admit to it."

**_-xxx-_**

Mary finds that she has time to return her friend Anna's phone call just before dinner and so, flopping down on the bed, she decides that she's very much in need of some friendly advice.

"_Hello, stranger_," Anna chimes on the other end of the phone. "I never thought you were going to get back to me."

Mary sighs. "I'm sorry," she apologises. "It's absolute madness up here. You're best off out of it all, there's no need for me to burden you with all my woes."

Anna and Mary had been best friends since their first day of school - though their upbringings couldn't have been more different, the pair had found that they'd clicked almost instantly and they'd gone from those little girls who used to play dress-up in the attics of the Abbey to teenagers who would manage to procure alcohol from some source or another and sit in fields under the stars giggling about boys and the latest gossip that was circulating around the school. When the time had come for people to start making plans for their future after sixth form, Anna had decided to go off to University - she was very creative and had a keen eye for fashion and so that was what she'd studied at one of the London universities. After graduating, she'd worked a number of odd jobs just to make her rent each month, but was adamant that she had fallen in love with city life and was not going to return home to rural Yorkshire and admit defeat. Sure enough, eventually, all her hard work had paid off and she'd got a job working as an assistant to one of the editors at either Vogue or Harpers Bazaar (it was one of the two, though Mary could never quite remember which as she'd been interviewed for similar possessions at both). She was run ragged all the time, but she adored it and, thankfully, her boss was nothing like the Miranda Priestly figure she'd anticipated. It was valuable work experience and starting from the bottom and working your way up was exactly how Anna felt like she'd achieved something.

"_You're always welcome in London_," she says. "_You know that, don't you? There's room here if you want it_."

Mary smiles to herself. "So you keep saying," she replies. "But I'd hate the idea of playing third wheel to you and John. I'd feel like I was getting in the way."

"_Don't be silly_!" Anna laughs. "_That wouldn't be the case at all_." Anna had just moved in with her boyfriend of a couple of years (though he proclaimed that he was above the age where it was acceptable to be called someone's boyfriend and insisted on being referred to as her 'partner' instead) and things seemed to be going well. John was an older man who had retired from the army after sustaining a serious injury to his leg whilst serving in the first gulf war and now owned his own security company. Mary liked John, and she was so glad to see her friend so happy.

"I need your advice on something," Mary says, finally getting round to what she'd wanted to discuss with Anna. "His mother has asked us to dinner. What should I do?"

"_Turn up, look fabulous and make him squirm_," says Anna.

Mary laughs. "What makes you think I'm capable of doing that?"

"_Because when you're not wearing wellies and that bloody Barbour jacket that seems glued to your body, you're stunning_."

Mary is by no means plain or unattractive (she's quite the opposite, actually) but she just prefers to keep her look simple and comfortable, a habit she's picked up having spent much of her life outdoors, walking across fields or on horseback. There aren't really many occasions which call for dressing up in a skimpy skirt and skyscraper heels in a village like Downton, what with the only nightlife being the odd fox or badger scurrying around somewhere. "I'm sure I can find something."

"_I'll have a look what I can get you from work_," Anna replies. One of the brilliant things about her job is that she's always getting a brand new designer wardrobe and she constantly looks incredible, a far cry from the girl who had left town years ago in a pair of jeans she'd had for years and an ill-fitting jumper. "_Knock him dead. Actually, marry him first and then do that... you might get your house back then_."

Mary laughs again. "Mary Crawley, man-eater extraordinaire. I rather like the sound of that."

**_-xxx-_**

A few days before the dinner, a rather large parcel had arrived for Mary from London with a note attached from Anna telling her to "Unleash the femme fatale within". The dress was stunning - a red one shouldered Roland Mouret number which, when she looked it up on Net a Porter, was worth well over a thousand pounds. She wore it with the highest pair of black heels she owned and stole some red lipstick from Sybil - truth be told, she had thought she would feel a fool but, actually, it's quite the opposite.

Her little sister gasps when she sees her coming down the stairs and even Cora is impressed by the effort that both her girls have put into dressing for this evening.

"That Matthew isn't going to be able to take his eyes off you," Sybil whispers into Mary's ear with a giggle. "If the two of you aren't having hate sex in the library by midnight, there's definitely something wrong with him."


	5. Country Pursuits

_**I'm amazed at just how quickly I've been updating my fics these past few days - perhaps this is how I should spend my weekends when I start working. I think it's all down to you guys though, your kind words and encouragement really help to motivate me so, keep it up, and I shall continue to write. There's a bit of bonding between Matthew and Mary in this chapter and they're actually getting along... it's nice while it lasts. Oh and, poor Matthew makes yet another faux pas when welcoming his dinner guests. Poor lamb. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

**Chapter Five - Country Pursuits  
**

Matthew bustles around the kitchen, still not used to its layout as he tries to make sure everything is organised before their guests arrive. He's a very good cook and, just as long as there's a bottle of red wine to hand as he goes about concocting some sort of culinary masterpiece, he finds the whole process rather relaxing. However, tonight is a different story altogether and he's finding himself beginning to get rather flustered - he needs to get this exactly right and to make a good impression, for he knows that he really does have to make amends with Mary if he wants her to agree to help him and teach him everything about Downton's way of life. The basement kitchen is an amalgamation of the original one and what used to be the old servant's hall - a wide, open plan space with ample worktops, beautifully modern appliances and, now that they'd added their own personal touch to the place, it was starting to become Matthew's favourite room in the entire house (though he knew it would be a shame to have to tear it all out when the time came to install an industrial kitchen for the hotel).

"They'll be here in a minute," says Isobel as she finishes setting the table. "I'll go upstairs and let them in."

Matthew doesn't answer here, merely nodding as he slings a tea towel over his shoulder and continues cooking.

"Be nice, won't you?"

"I am nice," he replies. "**She** is the problem."

Isobel sighs. "Well, personally, I think you're both as bad as each other."

Matthew shakes his head as she leaves him alone in the kitchen before retreating into the adjoining utility room to change into his shirt. Tossing his plain grey t-shirt into the laundry basket, he ruffles his hair in an attempt to make it look just a little bit more presentable and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead. Hearing voices coming down the stairs, he steps back into the kitchen and sets about playing the perfect host by reaching for some wine glasses so as he can offer his guests a drink.

"Come on in," he smiles. "Make yourselves at home."

He realises his faux pas before he even clocks the look on Mary's face...

This isn't the best of starts to the evening.

**_-xxx-_**

The first course goes down a treat and conversation flows just as easily as the wine. So far, Matthew has managed to avoid putting his foot in it even further by remaining relatively quiet and just concentrating on cooking.

"It's so nice just to dress up and have a proper dinner party once in a while, isn't it?" says Isobel after complimenting the two girls on how lovely they look. Matthew would have to agree with her on that point, especially when it comes to Mary - as much as he wants to dislike her for her cold attitude towards him (however understandable that may be), he has to admit that she is absolutely stunning tonight and he's struggling to keep his eyes off her.

"We always used to use the dining room whenever we had guest over," Mary says almost wistfully as she recalls the memories of days gone by.

"But this is lovely," Cora cuts in before her eldest daughter can start another argument with Matthew.

"Thank you," Matthew smiles. "I did think about using the dining room, but it's full of boxes and I haven't quite figured out what to do with them yet."

Seeing Mary open her mouth to come back with some sort of retort, Sybil chooses this particular moment to change the topic of conversation. "Do you think you'll enjoy village life, Mrs Crawley?" she asks. "It must be so quiet after life in the city."

"Call me Isobel, please," the older woman smiles. "We lived just outside of Manchester so it was already relatively quiet. I'm sure I'll find something to keep me occupied whilst Matthew and Duncan are busy transforming this place," she says. "Your mother tells me that you're training to be a doctor."

Sybil nods. "I'm just coming towards the end of my third year at university."

"I was a nurse in the army medical corps in my younger days," Isobel tells her, peaking Sybil's interest. "It's how I met Matthew's father."

"You might like the hospital," says Cora. "Well, it's not really a hospital... it's quite small."

Mary smirks. "Don't let Doctor Clarkson hear you," she says. "He thinks it's second only to St Thomas'."

Sybil laughs. "He can be a bit deluded sometimes," she says. "But he's a nice man. He's been kind enough to let me go in for some observations over the summer holidays. This year, he might even let me do some stitches and other basic procedures."

"God help us," Mary smirks. "Everyone wrap yourselves in cotton wool for the next couple of months." Much to her surprise, Matthew chuckles at this and she looks up at him from over the rim of her wineglass, finding herself smiling at him genuinely for what has to be the very first time.

"This is beautiful," says Sybil as she finishes the last of her food. "It's so nice to finally come to dinner at someone's house who knows how to cook for a vegetarian."

"Is it alright?" Matthew asks. "I must admit, I was a little stumped at first when your mother told me you didn't eat meat but, thankfully, one of my flatmates when I was studying the LPC down in London was a vegetarian too and she taught me."

"The LPC?" Cora asks. "That's a postgraduate course, isn't it?"

Matthew nods. "Yes, the Legal Practice Course," he tells her. "The final stage of academic training towards becoming a solicitor. One of the hardest years of my life, academically speaking, but it was worth it in the end."

"So where did you study as an undergrad?" asks Sybil. "I presume you did law."

"Oxford," he replies. "Magdalene College."

"Of course you did," Mary mutters under her breath and Cora glares at her eldest daughter as though to reprimand her. Still, at least they've made it through to the end of the main course without killing each other...

Though there is still time.

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew and Isobel see out their guests a couple of hours later, Mary lingering behind to speak to the former having decided that she's found him to be rather tolerable this evening.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asks. "Only, I'm going to view some of the old cottages that came with the land and I could use the help of someone who knows the area."

"I knew that there was a reason you were being so nice to me," she says. "You want something."  
"Please, Mary... am I alright to call you Mary now?"

She sighs and nods her head. "I suppose so," she replies. "Seeing as how I don't appear to be getting rid of you any time soon."-

Matthew laughs. "I assure you, I'm here for the foreseeable future. So, are you busy?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, I'm not. Though you should know that the best way to get to the cottages is on horseback."

"There's a road, I checked."

"My way is much more fun," she smirks. "Though I don't expect you to know how to ride."

"I ride," he replies, completely straight faced. "My first girlfriend was quite the accomplished rider, she taught me."

"Goodness," Mary smiles. "You are full of surprises."

"So, tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," she agrees. "Though don't get your hopes up... this doesn't mean I like you yet."

_**-xxx-**_

Mary is lying in bed, watching the review of the morning papers on Sky News just as she does every night before going to sleep when there's a knock at the door. It's three four taps - one slow, two quick, and another slow - so familiar to Mary's ears having been used by the same person since she was a little girl and wanted to sneak into her big sister's bed for a cuddle when she couldn't sleep. These days though, Sybil is quite grown up but Mary misses their late night chats when she's away at university, though it's not quite the same over the phone or by text.

"Hello," Mary smiles, switching off the television as Sybil slips round the door. "Don't tell me that even at twenty-one you're still afraid of the monsters under your bed."

Sybil laughs. "I think I was about four the last time I was afraid of those.."

"Ahh, yes," Mary concedes. "As I recall, they became your imaginary friends after that."

"We did have some good times when we were little, didn't we?" she asks as she crawls into bed beside her sister.

Mary shuffles up to give her some more room and nods in agreement. "Mmm... but we have some good times now, don't we?"

"I suppose," replies Sybil. "Though it's not the same. Everyone's been far too sad recently... I know it's to be expected, what with Papa and losing the Abbey and everything, but I'd just like to see people smiling again. Especially Mama."

"Do you think she and Isobel will get along?"

"I'd like to think so. What about you and Matthew?"

"What about us?"

Sybil smirks. "Us... I like the sound of that."

Mary rolls her eyes. "Well I don't."

"I meant whether or not you could ever be friends. He couldn't take his eyes off you tonight."

Her sister sighs. "You must have been seeing things because, I assure you, that wasn't the case at all. I'm not sure about the other thing though," she says. "We have a tendency to clash."

"You seemed to be getting on alright at dinner."

"That's because there were people there to keep the peace," she replies. "Though you do know I've managed to convince him to come riding tomorrow... **don't**, that's not a euphemism."

Sybil giggles. "You said it, not me."

"He wants to have a look at the old cottages," Mary tells her. "God knows what for. He wanted to drive, though if I can keep that hideous car out of sight then I suppose it's a good thing."

"And just think," Sybil adds. "His arse might look good in jodhpurs."

**_-xxx-_**

The two horses thunder across the open fields, Mary's stunning black stallion catching up to Matthew's grey mare at the top of the hill, having chosen to lag behind him slightly in the hope of sizing him up - he cuts a magnificent figure on horseback, and she'll have to admit that he does indeed know what he's doing.

"Wow," he says as they turn to admire the view of the Abbey and its grounds from above. "Now that really is something."

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Matthew nods. "I don't think I'd ever realised just how impressive it was until now."

"Yes, but you don't love it yet."

Matthew shrugs. "Well, obviously it's..."

"No," Mary interrupts. "That wasn't a question. You don't love it yet," she repeats. "You see a million bricks that may crumble, a thousand gutters and pipes that may block and leak, and stone that will crack in the frost... you see nothing more than a business venture."

Matthew looks at her and strokes his mare's neck. "But you don't."

"I see what should have been my life's work," she replies. "This isn't the first time that the estate was almost lost. In the eighteen-eighties, the fifth Earl was very nearly destitute and needed to find the finances to save it.

"And what did?"

"His son's bride, a wealthy heiress," she tells him. "My mother isn't the first American to be mistress of Downton."

Matthew smiles softly at her. "See, these are the stories I want to hear," he says. "The stories that give this place character. What happened to the Earldom? How did it die out?"

"Aaahh," Mary grins. "Now that is a saga all in itself," she says, turning Diamond around and nudging him into a walk, Matthew following close behind. "It was during the second world war. The seventh Earl had two sons, one of whom died after his plane was shot down over the Channel and the other... well, he disappeared."

"Missing in action?"

Mary shakes her head. "No," she says. "He just... vanished. There was nobody to continue the line and so it ended."

Matthew furrows his brow."But the name Crawley remained... how?"

"A scandal of epic proportions," she says. "The last Earl had a daughter who fell pregnant by an American G.I. and he abandoned her to return back to Chicago where he already had a wife and three other children. Of course, he neglected to tell her this and it broke her heart. There were many who called for the Earl to disown her, but he loved his daughter far too much and so he recognised the child as his heir, keeping the Crawley name."

"Your family certainly has some colourful characters."

Mary laughs. "Yes, and dear Sybil has spent much of her life trying to put them all to shame."

Her companion smiles. "I like Sybil," he says. "She's an intelligent young woman. The other though, Edith, I don't know much about her though."

"If you want a glowing report, I'm afraid I'm not the one to give it."

"The two of you don't get along?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, not really," she replies. "Well, at least not when we were younger... though we're getting better now."

"I wish I'd had siblings."

"If we'd met as children, I probably would have tried to give you one of mine... though there are no prizes for guessing which."

Both of them laugh then, urging their horses back into a gallop as they race back down the hill."

**_-xxx- _**

Exhausted and aching, Matthew stretches out his legs on the sofa in the old library, his laptop balanced on his thighs as he Skypes Duncan who is still in New York.

"I'm staying out here for a few more weeks," says the Scotsman. "Things are going really well and I don't see the need to hurry back. You're alright on your own for a little while longer, yes?"

Matthew nods. "I suppose so," he sighs. "I think I know what to do with the old cottages. I went up to look at them today with the daughter of the man who used to own the Abbey."

Duncan's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oh really?"

"It's not like that," Matthew retorts, hearing the cogs turning in his friend's mind. "We don't really get on although, just for a moment today, I actually thought..."

"You thought what?"

"Nothing," he replies wistfully. "It doesn't matter what I thought."

Duncan smirks. "So you're taking part in country pursuits now?" he asks. "Hunting birds of noble blood..."

"Don't," Matthew interrupts. "Don't speak about her like that," he says. "I think there's a nice, kind person underneath that icy exterior. She's been through a lot... it's understandable that she dislikes me."

"Have you fucked her?"

"What? No!" he protests. "No, not at all... I wouldn't. I couldn't."

Duncan sighs. "Matthew, it's been four years..."

"Three and a half," he corrects. "Three and a half years."

"Alright then, three and a half years. But do you not think that it's time?"

Matthew shrugs. "I don't know," he replies. "You can't put a timescale on these things."

"Well, on a slightly related note, there's something you should know," says Duncan. "Liv's flying out tomorrow. I'm going to ask her to marry me."

Matthew's face lights up. "That's wonderful news," he smiles. "Really, I'm happy for you both. It's about time, I think the poor is starting to give up hope."

Duncan laughs. "Thanks, mate, it means a lot. Is the top of the Empire State Building too clichéd?"

Matthew chuckles and shakes his head. "Wherever you do it, it'll be perfect. What about the ring?"

"Harry Winston, naturally."

"Good choice," replies Matthew approvingly. "Seriously though, she's a lucky woman."

"Aww, sure you don't want to marry me instead?"

Matthew laughs. "No, you're alright. I'll just settle for being your best man."

"You're getting ahead of yourself."

"It's me or your cousin Steve."

"Ugh," Duncan winces in disgust. "I think you've just got the job. She hasn't even said yes though yet."

His friend smiles. "She will, trust me."

Duncan sighs. "I hope so," he replies. "Though, just think about what I said. This girl could prove useful... even if you don't manage to get into her knickers, she knows enough about the estate to be a valuable asset to us."

"I don't want to get into her knickers."

"Is she pretty though?"

"Gorgeous," he replies without even pausing to think about his answer. "But, if I were interested, I'd be punching way above my weight. Though you can decide for yourself when you meet her."

Duncan nods. "I'm sure I will. Look, I have to go, I've got a meeting on the other side of the city and it's going to be chaos getting there," he says. "Let me know if you come up with any more ideas."

"I will," Matthew replies. "See you later, mate. Don't stay away too long."

"I know you're missing me," Duncan teases. "And I love you too."

Matthew laughs as his friend jokingly blows him a kiss and disconnects the call. He's had some rough times these past few years and he's certain that he wouldn't have got through it without Duncan there to pick him up when he'd reached rock bottom. He owes that man his life and he's absolutely delighted that he's found happiness with his girlfriend. That being said, the Scot is being completely ridiculous when he talks about someday pursuing Mary romantically...

Isn't he?


	6. An Unexpected Party

_**Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter done - I've had the busiest week ever and it's only going to get worse over the coming days. I'm so excited about this one though because we're really starting to get the ball rolling when it comes to Matthew and Mary's relationship - expect big things to happen in the near future but, of course, it's never plain sailing where these two are concerned. I'll update as quickly as I can, but I start my new job next Monday and so I probably won't have the time to write much. Enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

**Chapter Six - An Unexpected Party  
**

**June**

The whole thing was Sybil's idea, and she would be the one to blame if it all went wrong. Of course, if it was to be deemed a success, she wasn't the type of person who would take all the credit for herself, ensuring that those who had helped her put the whole thing together would get the recognition that they deserved. It was the beginning of the summer though, looking at the weather, one wouldn't think so. The rain hammers against the windows, Sybil's jeans hanging to dry in the kitchen and leaving a puddle on the floor from where she'd got soaked on her way home from work having gone out without her umbrella. Now freshly showered and already changed into her pyjamas despite it still being early in the evening, she potters around making tea as Mary sets up her laptop ready for their Skype date with Edith in Paris. Their mother's birthday was coming up and the girls had all decided that they wanted to do something special to celebrate, having not really had much cause to do so in recent months. It had been Sybil who suggested that they throw her a surprise party - it would be just a small affair with all of their friends from the village invited to eat cake and drink Pimms out in the garden if the weather permitted it.

"Aaahh, bonsoir, stranger," Sybil smiles as they finally get through to their sister.

"I saw you two weeks ago," Edith says, having had her youngest sibling over for a couple of days once she'd finished her exams. "But I'm sorry I've not really spoken to either of you. It's a busy time at the moment."

"You always say that," Mary replies dryly. "I'm beginning to feel honoured whenever you grace us with your presence."

Edith rolls her eyes. "I'm only busy because I'm trying to get ahead of myself so that I can come home for Mama's birthday and not have to rush back here. Where is she anyway?"

"In York with Isobel and Lydia Belasis," Sybil tells her. "She text to say they'd changed their plans and were going to get a later train."

"She and Isobel are getting on well then?"

Mary nods. "It seems that way. Surprisingly, they have rather a lot in common," she says.

"And Matthew?"

"What about him?"

"Have you spent any more time together?"

"Well, yes, obviously... though not alone, if that's what you're getting at," replies Mary. "I admit it... he's not as insufferable as I once believed him to be. Though we do still have our moments."

Sybil raises her eyebrows at Mary's admission as she takes a sip of her tea. "My my, the Ice Queen's heart is beginning to thaw."

"Alright, I admit it... I was wrong about him."

"Did you get that?" Sybil says, turning her attention back to Edith on the computer screen. "Just check outside your window and make sure that the moon isn't blue..."

"Or that pigs aren't flying."

Mary shakes her head and sits back in her chair. "Alright, now that you've both had your fun, do you think that we could possibly get down to business? What exactly are the plans for Mama's birthday?"

"The garden's looking nice now," says Sybil. "Hopefully we'll be able to have it there."

"And if it's still raining which, given that we do live in northern England," Mary points out. "Is incredibly likely."

"We could have it inside," Edith suggests.

Sybil shakes her head in disagreement. "She'd find out about it then. This is supposed to be a surprise."

"The village hall's still a mess," says Mary. "We couldn't have it there."

"What about... no, it's a silly idea," Edith replies, dismissing the idea before she can even share it.

"What is?"

"We could ask Matthew... have it up at the Abbey."

"Is that not a bit disrespectful?" Mary asks. "Considering everything that's happened."

"No, I think Edith has a point," says Sybil. "It wouldn't necessarily have to be **in** the Abbey, but out in the rose garden. That was always one of Mama's favourite places and we could get a marquee in case it rains."

Edith nods in agreement. "I'll Google some people who do them nearby," she says. "Get some quotes and whatnot. Do we want caterers or are you still happy to do the baking, Sybil?"

"I'm still fine," she says. "I've asked if I can stay late at the shop to get some work done there and it's fine. I'm thinking cupcakes as party favours and then sort of like afternoon teas."

"And champagne," Mary says. "We must absolutely have champagne."

"I might be able to get a few boxes of wine into the back of the car," Edith says. "They usually have some good stuff in that warehouse near Calais."

"I love it when a plan comes together," Sybil smiles. "Mary's been scribbling down some ideas for invites and we're going to nip into Ripon at the end of the week to get them printed."

"Can I have a copy of one of them?" Edith asks. "I'd like to send one to somebody."

"Darling, are you blushing?" Mary asks.

Sybil's eyes widen in surprise. "Edith's got a boyfriend," she teases.

Edith is indeed blushing - her cheeks growing more and more crimson by the second. "He's not my boyfriend," she says. "Not really. We've just been out for dinner a couple of times. His name is Anthony Strallan..."

"Wait," Sybil interrupts. "**The** Anthony Strallan? The one who has some top job at the Ministry of Agriculture?"

Edith nods. "That's him," she says. "I didn't think you would have heard of him."

"My friend Gwen from Uni is from a big farming family," she says. "I've learnt a lot about their way of life and the politics surrounding it in recent years. It's actually strangely fascinating."

Mary reaches for her phone and quickly Googles the gentleman in question, pulling a face when she's not quite sure what to make of him - he has nice eyes but he seems to be a little bit... old. "Really, Edith?"

"I think I know what you're getting at and it really doesn't matter," she says, defending her choice of beau. "We have an awful lot in common. He likes art and antiques..."

"Darling, that's because he is one."

"Well I'm sure he's lovely," Sybil cuts in before the two start a full blown argument. "And if he makes you happy then that's all that matters."

"Thank you, Sybil," Edith says, always able to count on the youngest to play peacekeeper. "And yes, he does make me very happy indeed."

**_-xxx-_**

On what should have been her grandmother's birthday, Mary walks down to the church with a bouquet of flowers from all three sisters just as she has done for the past couple of years. She's taken a smaller one for their father too, the ones she'd put there last week having been utterly ruined by the rain. She knows that Sybil in particular likes to sit and have conversations with them, filling them in on everything that's been happening, but Mary can't do that and just prefers to have a couple of moments of contemplative silence. Just as she's about to leave, she sees Matthew walking past and he waves, calling out to her in hello.

"I'm sorry," he apologises as he comes to stand beside her in the family plot. "I feel like I'm interrupting something."

Mary shakes her head. "No, not at all," she assures him. "I was just about to leave. It's Granny's birthday today. I brought some flowers."

"Adds a bit of colour to an otherwise gloomy place, don't you think?"

She nods in agreement. "I seem to have spent far too much time in graveyards recently," she says. "I don't want to attend another funeral for a very long time."

Matthew chuckles. "I hate them," he tells her. "I almost didn't go to my father's."

"How old were you when he passed away?"

"Sixteen," Matthew replies. "After everything he did in the army, the numerous narrow escapes, and it was pneumonia that killed him." He takes a look at their surroundings, letting his gaze drift towards the heavens before turning to look at Mary again. "But I suppose the Lord works in mysterious ways."

"I wouldn't have had you down as being particularly religious."

"I'm not, really," he says. "Not devout or anything, but I think there's some comfort in believing that there's something waiting for you on the other side."

"Well this is a cheerful conversation."

Matthew laughs. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get all morbid," he says. "So, this is the infamous Violet Crawley... the GI's girl?"

Mary nods. "That's the one. She did eventually get married and she and her husband had another child, my Aunt Rosamund, but then they divorced and she went back to being a Crawley. Her life fascinates me," she tells him. "I know so many stories about her and yet I feel as though I haven't even heard half of them."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman."

"Oh, she was."

"You'll have to tell me about her sometime."

Mary looks into his eyes then and sees that he's completely serious. "Alright," she replies, and can't help but smile. "But, in return, you have to tell me more about yourself. You've been here for a couple of months now and yet you're still something of a mystery to me."

Matthew sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm afraid there's not much to tell other than what you already know."

Mary shakes her head. "I beg to differ... I don't know how you take your tea, what you were like as a child, where you get your attraction to hideous cars from..."

He laughs again and Mary has to admit to herself that she likes it when he laughs - he has one of those smiles that's incredibly contagious and she feels bad for only just noticing these things now. It's amazing how much more one sees when they set their prejudices aside. "I could say the same about you."  
"Well, I like a good argument," she says. "I'm certain you know that."

"If you really like an argument..."

"Yes?"

"We should see more of each other."

Mary looks down at the ground to hide the blush that she can feel beginning to form on her cheeks. "You ought to be careful," she replies. "Someone might suppose you're warming to me."

"Who's to say that I'm not?"

"Well, whilst I appear to be in your good books, I have a favour to ask."

"Anything."

"How is the rose garden looking?"

Matthew furrows his brow, unsure of what this has to do with anything. "Wonderful, mother's taken it on as her little project. Why do you ask?"

"Because I was wondering if I might be able to borrow it?"

**_-xxx-_**

Much to the delight of Edith and Sybil, Matthew had agreed to let them throw their mother's party in the rose garden up at the Abbey. However, his and Mary's truce is short lived when she goes up there one afternoon to finalise some last minute arrangements.

Isobel informs her that her son is upstairs in one of the bedrooms, clearing it out ready for when the builders move in. Sure enough, she finds him up on the first floor and, much to her horror, he's standing there with a crowbar, poised and ready to tear out one of the old mantelpieces.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she shouts, causing him to jump with fright.

"My God, Mary... don't do that!"

She scowls at him, not quite caring about the fact that she could have just given him a heart attack if it meant saving that mantelpiece. "What are you doing with that crowbar?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Mary rolls her eyes, not in the mood for his games. "Well stop it!"

"Why?"

"Because... it's an antique."

"But we're getting a new one."

"Please, Matthew," she begs. "Leave it. My mother loves that mantelpiece."

Matthew sighs in defeat and sets down the crowbar. "Fine," he says. "I'll leave it. "I'll leave it. Are you here to talk about tomorrow?"

Mary nods. "If you're not too busy that is."

"No, I'm fine. Shall we go outside? It's far too hot in here."

Mary follows him out to the rose garden and gasps in surprise at the sight that greets her - There's bunting hanging from the wooden fences and fairy lights in the trees and the whole thing looks like something rather magical.

"There's still a lot of work to be done," he says. "But We're getting there."

"Did you do all of this?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, but I helped. I've had very strict instructions from Sybil... though she said that they came from you."

Mary furrows her brow. "I haven't given anyone any instructions."

"She saw your notes," he tells her. "I've seen them, you have a talent for this sort of thing. As I say, it's a long way from finished, but is it how you imagined it?"

"No," Mary says with a shake of her head.

"Oh," he replies, the disappointment evident in his voice.

"It's even better," she tells him, gently placing her hand on his arm. "Thank you, there's no way I would have been able to do this on my own."

Matthew smiles at her and, once again, they are at peace.

**_-xxx-_**

Mary beams with excitement as she sees the figure of the petite blonde woman stepping off the train - it's been so long since she and Anna last saw each other and she's absolutely delighted that her friend has been able to join them this weekend. She was to spend tonight with the Crawleys before driving the short distance to her parent's house on the outskirts of the village tomorrow, Cora under impression that Mr and Mrs Smith were away for the week (which they actually were, she just didn't know that they were already home).

"Look at you!" Mary says as she pulls out of Anna's embrace and takes in her much more polished appearance. "You look wonderful. London suits you."

"Thank you," Anna smiles. "I keep telling you that you'd love it too. You really should come down, even if it's just for a couple of days."

"We'll see," Mary tells her, knowing that that should appease her just for a little while at least. "So, John's coming up first thing in the morning?"

Anna nods. "He's got a lot going on at the moment," she says. "He did try but... Oh, I have something I'm absolutely dying to tell you. I was going to wait until later but I just can't!"

Before Mary can even question what it is that has her friend so excited, she finds a hand thrust into her face and a diamond ring adorning the third finger and glittering in the late afternoon sunlight. "You... you're engaged?"

Anna grins. "He asked me last week, got Dad's permission and everything."

"Congratulations," Mary says, hugging her again. "I'm so happy for you."

"We want to get married here sometime around Christmas. Please say you'll be one of my bridesmaids?"

"I'd love to," she smiles. "Though please God don't put me in pink."

Anna giggles. "I can't promise that."

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew spies Mary standing under one of the trees, surveying the party which is now in full swing. The girls had taken their mother out to lunch, giving the invited guests time to make their way up to the Abbey without arousing too much suspicion - she had been absolutely delighted with the surprise and so thrilled to see all of her friends in once place for the first time since her husband's funeral which, of course, hadn't really been somewhere where she felt like socialising very much.

"Admiring your handiwork?" he asks, handing her another glass of champagne.

Mary smiles. "As I said yesterday, this isn't just my doing, I had an awful lot of help," she says. "Thank you... again."

"It was a pleasure," he replies. "No, really, it was nice to do something useful. I know that this is all for Cora, but it's a good opportunity to finally meet other people from the village. Though I think some of them are still hell bent on chasing me out of here with pitchforks and flaming torches."

Mary chuckles. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that I'm no longer one of them... don't get your hopes up, it just means that I've gotten used to having you around."

"Well that's a vast improvement. I'd like it if we started over again... hello," he says, holding out his free hand to her. "My name is Matthew, Matthew Crawley."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Crawley," she says, shaking his hand and trying not to laugh. "I'm Mary."

"Charmed. So, friends?"

"Friends," she agrees.

"As your friend, can I ask what's troubling you?"

Mary sighs. "I... it's nothing," she tells him, though he's quite obviously far from convinced. "Alright, but you must promise not to laugh or think me silly if I tell you. My best friend is engaged... it's thrown rather a lot into perspective."

"But you're happy for her?"

"Oh, absolutely delighted," she replies, taking a sip of her champagne. "But you know how it is; always the bridesmaid, never the bride."

"My best friend has just got engaged to my other best friend. I've not been asked to be a bridesmaid yet, but I think I'd look rather good in blue."

Mary laughs and shakes her head, unable to believe just how ridiculous he can be at times. "Do you feel like a bit of a spare part?"

"Not really, no," he says shaking his head. "They're both in New York at the moment so I'm well enough out of the way. They're perfect for each other and, just as you are for Anna, I couldn't be happier for them. Would you like to get married one day?"

Mary shrugs. "I'm not sure, maybe," she says. "Though, when all your friends start doing it, you begin to wonder if you're missing out on something. Saying that, Downton's hardly buzzing with eligible bachelors... perhaps I should just buy myself a dozen cats and be done with it,"

"You hate cats."

"See, so there's no hope!"

Matthew chuckles. "I find it very hard to believe that you'll spend your life as a spinster and you shouldn't write yourself off as one," he says. "You never know, you might find yourself rather surprised. Who knows, perhaps the person you're looking for has been right in front of your eyes this whole time."

"You're right... it's Mr Carson isn't it?"

They both laugh then and Mary looks down to see that he's taken her hand in his - it looks so right, so natural, and she gives it a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Yes... perhaps she'll find herself rather surprised indeed.


	7. A Creature of Duty

_**I'm so excited about this chapter, so much so that I'm going to keep my author's note short and sweet this time. This could be the last charter for a while because I start my new job tomorrow and it's long hours. I hope you enjoy it and please pretty me know what you think!**_

* * *

**Chapter Seven - A Creature of Duty**

It's obvious to Mary that her mother is hiding something - she seems to be constantly looking for things around the house and slams her laptop closed whenever anyone approaches her.

"Maybe she's trying online dating," Sybil suggests as Mary joins her on her break in the teashop.

Mary shakes her head and sets down her cup. "Papa's been dead less than a year," she suggests. "I don't think it's that."

"It happens," her sister says. "Uncle Harry remarried a year after Aunt Lillian died..."

"Yes, and they were divorced not much later."

"Fair point," Sybil shrugs. "But all I'm saying is that people deal with their grief in different ways and some move on quicker than others. Although, if it is true, would it really be such a bad thing?"

The eldest sighs. "No, I suppose not," she admits. "But it would just be... odd. I'd like her to find somebody else someday, but perhaps not yet. Whatever she decides, I just hope she's happy... she deserves to be."

"I think we all do. It's been an odd few months."

"And what about you?" Sybil asks. "Are you happy?"

"Why do you ask?"

Sybil sighs and leans across the table on her elbows. "Alright, I'm just going to come out and say it... what's going on with you and Matthew?"

"What?!"

Her sister rolls her eyes. "Oh, please," she says. "I've seen the way the two of you look at each other. Blatant eye fucking all over the shop."

"We do not."

"You so do," Sybil teases. "I'm not the only one who's noticed it either. Edith..."

"What does Edith know about anything?"

"The last time I checked, she was the only one of us with a boyfriend... man friend... partner... no, partner sounds too Jeremy Kyle..."

"I see your point," Mary interrupts before Sybil starts rambling like she has a tendency to do. "But there's nothing going on between Matthew and I. We're... friends."

Sybil smiles as she offers Mary half of her cupcake. "Well that's an improvement on what it was a couple of months of months ago."

Licking a blob of lemon icing from her fingertip, Mary's lips too curl up into a smile as she thinks about the progress she and Matthew have made recently. They've been spending more and more time together, drinking down in the local pub or just walking about the estate as she shows him all of her secret childhood hideaways and regales him with tales of the house's golden age. "Now that I agree with."

**_-xxx-_**

As it so happens, the girls don't have very long to wait to find out just what it is that Cora's been up to these past few days. She's waiting for them when they return home, a grave look upon her face which immediately makes them both panic.

"It's nothing serious is it, Mama?" Sybil asks, standing close to her big sister for support just like she used to when she was a child.

Cora shakes her head and smiles. "No, darling," she replies. "It's not. Though I do have something to tell you both... I'm going to go and stay with your Grandmama. I think it's about time I went home for a little while."

"How long will you be gone?" asks Mary, furrowing her brow in concern.

"I don't know," says Cora. "But I don't need to tell the two of you that these past few months have been hard."  
Sybil nods in agreement. "You need time and space to clear your head," she says. "I think that's probably best."

"Oh my girls," their mother smiles, pulling them both into a tight embrace. "I love you and your sister dearly and thank you for understanding that I need to do this. You know exactly where I am though, should you need me, and you really must try to come over to New York before the end of the summer."

"We'll miss you," Mary says quietly. "And we'll take good care of things here."

Tearfully, Cora cups her eldest daughter's cheek in her hand and smiles. "I know you will, darling," she replies. "You always do."

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew watches her carefully as he stirs another sugar into his tea - he's grown used to the stuff now, but is still experimenting with various levels of milk and sweetness in order to find the perfect cup. There's something not quite right with her, her mood subdued and she's not arguing with him anywhere near as much.

"Mary, is everything alright?"

She looks up at him, having been reading a message from her mother who has text to say that she's arrived at JFK and will phone her later when she arrives at Grandmama's house in the Hamptons. "I'm... fine."

He eyes her sceptically, far from convinced by her response. "But you would tell me if anything was the matter?"

Mary nods and her lips curl up into the faintest hint of her smile as she's genuinely touched by his concern. "I just..." she gestures with her hands as she struggles to find the words to adequately describe how she feels and sighs."Everything has changed so much in these past few months that I'm struggling to keep up."

"Maybe you should follow your mother's example and go off for a while to have some time to yourself," Matthew suggests. "I thought you said that Anna keeps telling you you're more than welcome to go and stay with her in London?"

"She does, but that's not what Indeed," she replies. "I need something to keep me occupied."

Matthew leans back in his chair and grins at her in that way which Mary knows means he's up to something. "Then I have an idea that might interest you."

"Go on."

"Duncan's arranged a fancy dinner," he says. "He's invited a group of people who he hopes might invest in the hotel. He's not flying back from America until the Friday before though so there's still a fair bit left to do. He knows I'm not great at sorting these things out but I told him I had a friend who was."

"And the friend has let you down?"

Matthew chuckles. "No, you're that friend. I saw what you did with Cora's birthday party and I found some photographs and cut-outs from the local newspaper about all the things you organised when your father still owned the Abbey. You have vision, Mary... a real talent," he tells her. "I know that I'm asking you to help us make a success of something you've strongly objected to and I apologise but I hadn't thought about that when I was singing your praises to Duncan."

"Actually, I've been thinking about that," she says. "As much as your modernisations pain me, I'd much rather see someone care for the place and make it thrive rather than it become a derelict shell."

"Thank you," he smiles. "It means a lot to have your support. So, will you help me? You do still owe me for the rose garden."

She quirks one of her perfect eyebrows at him from over the top of her teacup. "Oh, I owe you now, do I?"

"Please?"

"Fine... just tell me what it is I need to do."

His smile is, as always, infectious. "Thank you," he says. "I've already sorted out caterers and all that."

"You're not cooking yourself then?"

Matthew chuckles. "Not a chance," he replies. "I don't cook to impress and that's certainly what we're trying to do."

"Shame," Mary mutters. "I was beginning to become fond of your cooking."

"Come round tonight," he suggests. "We can discuss the finer details and I'll show you what I've done so far. Risotto?"

Mary can't help but laugh. "Sounds delightful, but that wasn't a hint."

"I know, but the longer I can keep you, the more we can get done," he replies before quickly checking his watch. "I'm sorry, I have to go. I've got a meeting up at the Mason's farm."

"About what?"

"I'll tell you once everything is settled, it's not certain yet," says Matthew. "But I think you're going to like it." He gets up to leave but, before he does, he stoops down and presses a quick and chaste kiss to Mary's temple, catching her completely by surprise. "Thank you, Mary," he adds, finally walking out of the door without giving her so much as a second to ask him what on Earth that was all about.

With a shake of her head, she looks up to see her old friend staring at her having no doubt witnessed the entire exchange. "Don't say anything."

"I wasn't going to, Miss Mary," replies Carson with an amused smile, turning his back on her and busying himself with a task that probably didn't even need doing in the first place.

Suddenly feeling like an infatuated schoolgirl with her first crush, Mary smiles dreamily and, for the very first time, freely admits to herself that she might fancy Matthew Crawley more than just a little bit.

_**-xxx-**_

A week later, the two sisters walk arm in through the village towards the train station, Sybil dragging a little pink suitcase behind her, the wheels of which grind irritably against the uneven pavement as Mary fills her in on yet another evening she's spent with Matthew.

"How many times is this now?" she asks. "Four nights in the last week?"

"Something like that," Mary replies. "But you shouldn't read anything into it. It's just business. The dinner is tomorrow and we've had a lot to do."

"But each other isn't on your to do list?"

"Don't be so vulgar," Mary chides, fighting to hide her smirk. "I haven't slept with him, just for the record."

"Do you want to?"

"Sybil!"

"It's a serious question," her sister replies. "He's a good looking bloke and, besides, it wouldn't have to mean anything... it'd just be sex."

"But that's the thing," Mary says. "If I did do anything, I think I'd want it to mean something."

"So you like him then?"

"It's... complicated," she replies. "But I think I do. Are you sure you can't come tomorrow?"

Sybil shakes her head and doesn't miss her sister's obvious attempt to change the subject. "No, sorry, it's Gwen's twenty-first and we've been planning this night out for ages. You should try and come up to Edinburgh one weekend next term. It'll do you good to get away from this place for a little while."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?"

"Because they're probably right," says Sybil. "The world is your lobster."

"Oyster."

"Does it matter?" she laughs. "Really, Mary, what is it that's keeping you... oh."

They come to an abrupt halt as they arrive at the station, the train from York having just arrived. There, on the platform, is Matthew with his arms around a petite redhead in what looks to be a tight and loving embrace.

"As I was saying," Sybil says finally, the pair of them watching as the woman presses a lingering kiss to Matthew's cheek which makes him smile. "What is it that's keeping you here?"

**_-xxx-_**

Mary arrives at the Abbey bright and early the next morning to see to the last minute preparations for tonight's dinner. Thankfully, Matthew had driven over to Manchester to pick up Duncan from the airport, taking the woman from the train station with him and Isobel had gone also to visit a friend for a couple of days. She busies herself seeing that everybody is doing what they're supposed to be doing, making sure that absolutely everything is perfect and that the night is going to be absolutely perfect before locking herself away in what has become Matthew's study for a well earned cup of tea whilst she finishes off filling in some spreadsheets (Duncan had been incredibly stringent with the budget for this whole affair, but Matthew had told her not to worry about it and he'd see to things if she went over). She notices that he's changed his desktop background since the last time she'd used his laptop a couple of days earlier. Instead of one of those horribly generic ones, it's a photograph of himself and three other people - she assumes that the second man must be Duncan, the two of them looking incredibly handsome in morning wear, and he has his arm wrapped around a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair, olive skin and the most strikingly beautiful green eyes. She's wearing a wedding dress though Mary seems to recall Matthew saying that Duncan had only recently got engaged, and so she comes to the conclusion that she's a friend of the redhead - obviously one of the bridesmaids - who had come to visit Downton, for she's also in the photograph with one arm wrapped around Matthew's waist and her other hand resting on his chest. They all look so very young, but so incredibly happy - she wonders what their story is. Where did they meet and how? Was it through university or had they known each other since childhood? As she ponders these thoughts, a sudden and rather saddening realisation dawns on Mary - aside from Anna, she's never really had any friends.

Leaning back in her chair, Mary clutches her mug between her hands and sighs - she can't deny that she's had an incredibly privileged life, but it's only now that she's realising that money really can't buy you complete happiness.

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew checks his appearance one final time in the mirror of the downstairs bathroom, twirling a white gold ring around his finger like he so often does when he's feeling nervous about something before quickly polishing off the last of the glass of red wine he'd left next to the sink. Tonight has to be absolutely perfect, but he has every faith in Mary that she'll have arranged something truly spectacular. He steps out just in time to see Mary coming down the stairs, looking jaw-droppingly stunning in the same red dress she'd worn the first night his mother had invited her and the family to dinner.

"I didn't have anything else appropriate," she says. "Will I do?"

He smiles broadly at her. "Will you do?" he repeats, holding out his hand to her like a gentleman from a bygone age as she reaches the bottom steps. "Mary, you look beautiful."

"Thank you," she smiles. "You scrub up well yourself."

"What, in this old thing?" Matthew smirks, pulling at the collar of his shirt, indeed looking incredibly dashing in a grey three piece suit. "Having to wear a suit is one of the many things I don't miss about being a solicitor."

"Do you think you'll ever go back to it?" Mary asks, coming down another couple of steps so as not to tower over him in her heels. "Law, I mean."

Matthew shrugs. "I'm not sure," he replies. "I'm not in any hurry to... look, Mary, I'm so grateful you agreed to help us. I want to take you out to dinner to say thank you. A proper dinner, somewhere nice."

Mary smiles. "There's really no need," she says, only just beginning to realise that he's still holding onto her hand.

"I know," he replies. "But I want to. I didn't mean what I said about you doing this because of the favour you asked of me over the rose garden, so I want to thank you properly. It doesn't have to be dinner, we can..."

"Matthew," she interrupts with a smile. "Dinner would be lovely. And I promise to wear a different dress next time."

"You can wear it if you want," he says quietly, his eyes meeting hers now that they're on the same level. "I rather like this dress."

He's openly flirting with her and she so desperately wants to flirt back but is denied the opportunity as the sound of voices from somewhere behind her makes her remember that they aren't in fact alone.

"Aaah, there you both are," Matthew says, looking to the two people, a man and a woman. coming down the stairs. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."

The man chuckles. "In a place this size, I suppose it's easily done," he says with a strong Scottish accent and Mary instantly knows that this is the elusive Duncan.

"Mary, I'd like you to meet Duncan Hamilton and Lavinia Swire, his fiancée. They were both supposed to arrive yesterday but business kept Duncan in New York until late last night."

Mary smiles as Duncan kisses her on both cheeks. "It's nice to meet you at last."

"And you," the Scotsman replies. "You're every bit as stunning as he said you were."

Mary looks over at Matthew who looks a little bit flustered, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. "Hello, Lavinia," she says, turning to the redhead whom she'd seen Matthew with at the station yesterday, feeling surprisingly relieved to learn that she'sengaged to somebody else. "I'm Mary Crawley."  
"Of course you are," she beams. "I've been dying to meet you because I've heard so much about you from Matthew."

"Nice things, I hope."

Matthew meets her gaze again. "What else would she hear from me?"

Duncan coughs, reminding them once again that there are others present. "So, shall we? The others should be arriving soon."

Matthew leads them all into the old drawing room where Mary has arranged for drinks to be served whilst the woman herself lingers back a bit and tries yet again to figure out the enigmatic Mr Crawley.

**_-xxx-_**

The dinner is a roaring success, Matthew had chosen well on the caterers and the food was exquisite, the conversation flowing just as easily as the wine. It was the early hours of the morning before the guests had all gone up to bed having been invited to stay the night in some of the refurbished rooms upstairs. Lavinia and Duncan had gone to bed not long after, leaving Mary and Matthew alone in the old library which he has told her they intend to turn into the hotel bar.

"Thank you again for tonight," Matthew says as he tops up Mary's wine glass. "They're all going to invest and we've agreed deals with the suppliers. Though I did have a slight disagreement over the latter with Duncan."

"How so?"

"Well," he says, sitting down next to her on the plush red sofa. "He wanted to go with all these fancy firms who mainly deal with places in London and other big cities. When it comes to food, I made him see that what you want is good local produce from good local suppliers, so..."

"You went with Masons?"

"I did."

Mary smiles. "Thank you," she smiles. "It'll mean a lot to William. He was at school with Sybil, you know."

Matthew nods. "I do," he replies. "We sat and had a good chat the other day. His girlfriend, Daisy, has recently taken over a catering business owned by one of the ladies from the village. I can never remember her name, but I see her in the tea shop a lot."

"Mrs Patmore?"

"That's the one. Anyway, William gave me Daisy's number and they did the catering for tonight. It's like you've been saying, it's important to respect local businesses. You help them out and they'll help you."

"By Jove," Mary grins. "He's got it."

Matthew chuckles. "I know that the community hasn't exactly been over the moon about mine and Duncan's plans for this place, but I'm determined to take a good proportion of our employees from the village and the surrounding areas. You've said ityourself, unless your family farms or something similar, employment prospects round here are dire. I want to liaise with the local schools, give the kids the opportunity to come and work here where they can learn about catering, hospitality and management. They'll gain valuable skills and get a little bit of money in their pockets. If any of them wish to make a proper career out of it then they can stay here or we can help them go elsewhere."

Mary is at a loss for words. "Matthew, that's such a wonderful idea."

"You think so?"

"Yes," she nods. "My God, I wish I'd had someone like you to offer me such an opportunity. Yes, I was happy enough helping my father run the estate because, one day, it all would have been mine, but it would have been nice just to have been afforded the option to try something a little bit different. You have my backing, one-hundred percent."

"Well, it was you who said that, in acting as lord of the manor, it was my duty to act responsibly towards the people of Downton."

"So when you laugh with me or flirt with me, is that part of your duty?" she asks. "Keeping me sweet so that I'll come to your rescue should you make another faux pas?"

"Don't play with me," he smirks. "I don't deserve it. Not from you."

"You know, when you first came here, I think Sybil had a bit of a crush on you."

"That's something nobody could ever have accused you of."

Mary toys with her necklace and shrugs. "Oh, I don't know."

Matthew takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass down on the floor. "You're mocking me."

"You should have more faith," she replies, sensing that her true feelings for him are about to come spilling out, losing all her inhibitions and reservations on account of a little too much wine.

Matthew leans in closer to her, the intensity of his gaze forcing Mary to avert her eyes. "Should I remind you of some of the choicest remarks you made about me when I arrived here?" he asks. "Because they live in my memory as fresh as the day they were spoken."

"Oh Matthew," Mary sighs. "What am I always telling you? You must pay no attention to the things I say."

It happens in seconds, their lips finding each others in a kiss that's all the more passionate for being so long overdue. Mary gasps as Matthew pulls her even closer to him and she somehow ends up straddling him with her knees resting on the cushions of the sofa. Breathlessly, they break apart and she looks down at him as she runs her fingers though his thick blond hair.

"Mary..." he sighs, but is unable to find the words to express exactly what it is that he desires.

She nods, answering his unasked question. "Yes," she breathes.

"Are you sure?"

She nods again, taking his face in her hands and pressing a long and lingering kiss to his lips before nuzzling her nose against his. "I want this," she replies quietly. "I wantyou."

He smiles up at her. "I hoped you'd say that," he chuckles. "Upstairs, third door on the left," he tells her. "I'll find some champagne or something. Ten minutes?"

"You have five," she teases. "I don't think I can wait that long."

He lets her go then, but not without grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her down for one last kiss before he does.

**_-xxx-_**

Kicking of her heels, Mary dashes upstairs to the room currently occupied by Matthew. Shutting the door behind her, she leans back against it and sighs. Yes, they've probably had a bit too much to drink, but not enough so as to leave them so completely inebriated that they don't know what they're doing and will come to regret it in the morning. They both want this - they've wanted it for a while now and, what with the amount of time they've spent together recently, it was inevitable really.

She wanders around the room as she waits for him - she's always liked this room with its deep green walls, original fireplace and magnificent mahogany bed. It's very masculine, but she sees elements of Matthew's softer personality coming through from the things he's put in there. There are photographs over the mantelpiece and Mary can never resist a look at such items. There's one of he and his mother at his graduation on the sprawling lawns of an Oxford college, another of a much younger Matthew with a man she assumes must be his father playing cricket together and she has to smile at just how alike he and the late Doctor Crawley look. However, the third strikes up a whole new range of emotions deep within her and they're far from positive ones.

The photograph is of Matthew and the same green-eyed bride from the picture on his computer.

She's Matthew's bride.

The pair of them look so happy together, standing outside a church in somewhere she thinks could quite possibly be the likes of Spain or Italy. He's looking into the woman's eyes, just as he had done to her own and she feels her heart break.

The door opens behind her and she hears Matthew step inside, though she really isn't interested in having sex with him now.

"Sorry, I couldn't find any... OW!" he yelps as a cushion from the bed is flung in his general direction and hits him square in the chest.

Mary is positively fuming. "You lying, cheating... rat!" she says.

"Mary?"

"You're married!" she yells. "Were you hoping that I wouldn't find out? Were you planning on getting into bed with me tonight and then going back to your wife as though nothing had ever happened?"

"Mary..."

She grabs her shoes and storms towards the door. "I don't want to hear it, Matthew," she interrupts through gritted teeth. "I don't want to hear anything from you ever again."

He steps in front of her, blocking her exit and looking at her with those big blue eyes that she would probably have been powerless to resist under any other circumstances. "Mary, please."

"No."

"I'm not married," he says quietly, ignoring her protests. "Mary... I'm widowed."


	8. To Have Loved and Lost

_**Thank you all so much for the incredible response to the last chapter - I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. I'm sorry if this installment is a bit dark, gloomy, and a wee bit angsty though. I had always planned to tell it this way, but there are a couple of things going on in my personal life right now which have influenced that and it's much heavier going than I'd anticipated. On a happier note, my new job is amazing, I love it, and that's helped me to get some happier scenes into this chapter too. So, without further ado, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x **_

* * *

**Chapter Eight - To Have Loved and Lost**

**Three years earlier**

The rain hammers down against the windows, a rumble of thunder sounding somewhere in the distance, but, for the most part, Matthew finds it to be rather soothing. Flopping down into the armchair in the corner of the room, he surveys his handiwork and smiles at all he's accomplished this weekend - everything suddenly seems so real now and, as the realisation dawns upon him once more, he can't help but smile.

He's going to be a father.

When his wife had told him the news, he'd kissed her over and over and over again, unable to find the words to tell her just how happy she had made him. Now, a few months later, they'd decided it was about time to start getting things ready - for the past few weeks, boxes upon boxes of furniture and other items that they would need had begun arriving at the house. She'd gone off for a girly shopping weekend in London, Matthew having decided to spoil his wife and her friends by paying for them to stay in a gorgeous hotel, have a meal at a top restaurant and even managed to get tickets for a West End show. He didn't think that she'd be able to enjoy her birthday properly, what with it being so close to her due date, and so it had seemed like the perfect plan, giving him the space and time he needed to start assembling things for the nursery. They'll be home soon and Matthew knows that she'll be absolutely ravenous; they've already joked that the baby already takes after her - a true Italian with a love of food. He's just about to head down to the kitchen when his phone starts buzzing on top of the chest of draws - it's an unknown number and, usually, he'd ignore such a call but something in his heart is telling him that he really needs to answer it.

"Mr Crawley?" an unknown voice asks on the other end of the line. "My name's Kelly, I'm a nurse at Stafford General Hospital. I'm afraid I have some bad news concerning your wife..."

**_-xxx-_**

An hour or so earlier, somewhere on the M6 just outside of Stafford, a very tired Sofia Crawley rests her head on her elbow and stares out of the window. She can't see much, all around them is an endless expanse of grey. Visibility is poor and they're crawling up the motorway at a snail's pace. She rubs her free hand across her swollen belly, smiling to herself as she feels the baby wriggling around.

"He's awake then?" asks Lavinia, one of her dearest friends and travelling companion.

"Always," Sofia replies. "He's certainly Matthew's child."

Lavinia laughs. "So it **is** a boy?"

"I didn't say that it was."

"But you didn't deny it either!" she says, determined to know just what she's going to be godmother to.

Sofia shakes her head. "It just makes it easier. Besides it sounds far nicer than saying **it** all the time."

"So you really don't know?"

"No, we want it to be a surprise. You know how my family are though, especially my aunts, they're convinced that they can tell it's a boy just from the way the bump sits... it's absurd, but that's the reason why we keep saying he."

Lavinia quickly glances over at her friend and smiles. "Makes sense I suppose," she says. "Even if there is no logic in it."

They settle into a companionable silence then, Sofia beginning to drift off to sleep listening to a song that she loves but doesn't know the name of on the radio. She can vaguely make out Lavinia mumbling something about how awful the weather is and about how she can't see a damn thing...

Not even the car that smashes into them a second later.

**_-xxx-_**

The drive to Stafford seems to take an age - he feels numb and all he can think about is his wife and daughter lying there in an unfamiliar place without him.

His daughter.

They'd delivered the baby by emergency caesarean, deciding that it was the best course of action if they had any chance of saving them both. As soon as he arrives at the hospital, Matthew is hastily ushered upstairs to the intensive care unit and told to scrub up while the nurse goes to find the consultant. His mind drifts in and out as the doctor explains what happened but all he can focus on are several disheartening buzzwords which cause both fear and alarm. Somehow though, he manages to choke out a lie about being Lavinia's cousin just to find out how she's doing. His friend is stable but needs surgery to repair the break in her arm, the car having struck on the passenger side. His wife though remains in a critical condition - she's still sedated and the next few hours are crucial according to the kindly surgeon who asks Matthew if he'd like one of the nurses to fetch him a cup of tea. Refusing the offer, he steps through the door and into the unknown - a void where not even the next few minutes are certain...

And he waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

Someone wakes him just before dawn - a doctor from the neonatal unit asking if he'd like to see his daughter. He nods and stands to follow her, placing a tender kiss to Sofia's brow and, in a hoarse whisper, promises that he'll be back soon. He walks an endless labyrinth of sterile corridors behind the medic, his steps slow and sluggish as he follows once again into the unknown. The prognosis, he's told, doesn't look too great for the baby - she's underdeveloped, only just passed what they call the viable stage which Matthew thinks is such an absurd term. To them, she's only technically existed for a couple of weeks, but he has known this little person for months now and he loves her so much that he feels as though she's been a part of his life forever.

Nothing could have prepared him for just how tiny she is - his little Isabella, the Italian variant of his mother's name that they'd already chosen for a girl. His heart sinks when he's told to expect the worst. She's too sick to fight any longer and it's only a matter of time now. Matthew protests, once again finding his voice all of a sudden - he's heard of it before, premature babies who have no hope of survival, coming through it despite all the odds and going on to have normal, healthy and happy lives. He wonders why he hasn't cried yet and not even when the doctor shakes her head and tells him that this isn't one of those cases, his tears still refuse to fall.

He finds himself sitting in a chair close to the baby's incubator much for the rest of the day - he doesn't care that the hard plastic hurts his back, that he hasn't eaten anything in so very long that it makes his stomach hurt or that his mother has finally arrived to see how they're all doing. He refuses to acknowledge her presence though, instead focusing on these first and last hours spent alone with his daughter - his little angel he'd been blessed with for too short a time before heaven had wanted her back.

Isobel had been strangely understanding of the fact that her son needed some time alone with his own child. She had suspected that Sofia was expecting even before her daughter-in-law had and she'd been thrilled by the news when it was officially confirmed that she was to be a grandmother. This day should have come under happier circumstances, but she knew that she just needed to be here for her family - she knows that there's something terribly wrong though, her instincts as both a mother and a nurse kicking in the second she sees Matthew emerge from the side-ward. He's pale and dishevelled, unshaven with bloodshot eyes and clearly so far past the point of exhaustion that he can barely function anymore.

He doesn't need to say much as one word tells her everything that she needs to know. - a desperate plea she hasn't heard from him since he was a small boy.

"Mother..."

**_-xxx-_**

Back in the present, Mary really isn't sure what to say. Her tear-filled brown eyes are fixed upon Matthew who stands with his back to her, his palms flat upon the windowsill as he stares out into the inky blackness beyond the Abbey's ancient walls.

"That day you found me in the cemetery," she says quietly. "You said nothing of your wife and child, only your father. Why?"

Matthew still doesn't turn to face her. "Because it's not something I like to talk about."

"What happened to Sofia?"

"I sat with her for days," he replies. "Though it could have been weeks or months, I lost complete track of time. She seemed to be showing signs of improvement and we even managed to have a couple of conversations. One day, we were just talking one minute and then the next... it just all happened so quickly." He runs a hand through his hair and sighs wearily. "Actually, Mary, do you mind if we don't talk about it anymore?" he asks. "It hurts too much."

Even though he can't see her, she nods and moves to his side, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Of course not," she says. "I'm sorry for pushing it. Though I do have one more question but then that's it, I promise."

"Go on."

"You once told me that you used to be quite religious... is this what made you lose your faith?"

He nods. "I was never devout, as I said, but I did practice," he tells her. "But, yes, I suppose it was really. Though I still believe in heaven and all of that... I have to, just to know that they're both alright without me."

"Would you have told me, if I hadn't found out the way that I did?"

"You said you only had one more question."

"Sorry," Mary apologises, worried that she's angered or offended him.

Matthew chuckles, somehow sensing how Mary feels and it instantly makes her feel better. "Perhaps I would have," he said. "Though just not yet. I would have found the right time somewhere down the line."

Mary nods in understanding. "I don't think there ever is a right time to bring these things up," she replies. "But I wouldn't have thought anything different of you should you have chosen **not** to tell me?"

"And what about now?" he asks, turning to face her at last. "Has your opinion of me changed?"

She looks straight into his eyes and smiles tenderly. "No, not at all."

Matthew pulls her into a tight embrace then and buries his face in her fragrant hair. "Stay," he says quietly. "I don't mean anything by it, but please just say you'll stay here with me tonight."

Mary nods in agreement. "Alright," she replies. "Though I didn't bring any pyjamas. I thought I'd be home by now."

Matthew moves over to the wardrobe, pulling out a pale blue shirt and a pair of grey boxers from the chest of drawers beside it. "Will these do?" he asks. "I'd give you some of my actual pyjamas but they're all in the wash and, besides, I think they'd drown you."

Mary laughs, genuinely touched by his gratitude. "They'll be fine," she says. "Can I use the bathroom?"

Matthew nods and watches her as she closes the door behind her. Once inside, Mary sits on the edge of the bath and sighs. Never in a million years could she have guessed just how much Matthew had been through these past few years, how much he had suffered and lost and yet he still manages to have the kindest heart and the brightest outlook on life of anyone she knows.

"Oh Matthew," she mutters to herself. "What am I going to do with you?"

**_-xxx-_**

She can't sleep and there's only so long she can spend lying beside him and watching him as he manages to do so- he's already admitted to being quite a heavy sleeper though, in yet another revelation, he'd confessed that there had been a time just after the accident that that hadn't come without the aid of various pills and potions. Mary had to admit that she'd been rather relieved to hear that he had never once developed a dependence on him and she's thankful that he had such a wonderful support network around him during that time and she finally thinks she understands what he means when he says that Isobel is a wonderful woman.

Sick of her restlessness, Mary crawls out of bed and decides to have a wander around her childhood home - much like Sybil and their father, she had always sought solace in the library whenever she couldn't sleep. However, seeing the light shining from within, she's surprised to see that someone else had already had a similar idea.

"I'm sorry," a quiet, almost timid voice apologises. "I didn't think there was anyone else up."

Mary smiles at Lavinia and shakes her head. "There's no need to apologise," she says. "Not to me, I don't own the place."

"But, if I'm right in thinking, you technically once did."

Mary nods. "For a short time, yes," she replies. "Though I'm sure you know the story."

"I know **a** version," says Lavinia. "It must have been terribly sad for you to lose so much in such a short space of time."

"Indeed it was," Mary agrees, sitting down on the plush red sofa opposite the one Lavinia sits upon. "But, after tonight, I now know that there are far worse things I could lose than a four-hundred-year-old pile of bricks."

"He's told you, hasn't he?" Lavinia asks after a moment of silence and Mary nods. "I wasn't sure if he would. He asked me if he should, you know... but I told him that that was a decision only he could make."

"Well I'm glad that he did," says Mary. "Though I know that it can't have been easy for him."

Lavinia shakes her head. "He doesn't like to talk about it much and I can't say that I blame him. Sofia was one of my best friends," she tells her, her finger subconsciously tracing a long thin scar on her left forearm. "Sometimes I feel guilty that I survived and she didn't."

Mary leans forward and looks at the red-head with something akin to desperation mixed with pity. "No," she says. "Lavinia, you really mustn't think like that. You're not to blame for what happened... it was a tragic accident."

"I know," the younger woman replies. "But there will forever be a sense of doubt. I wondered if Matthew could ever forgive me afterwards, he and I have known each other since we were little. We were both only children but our fathers had known each other since their university days, perhaps even before, and so we sort of just became each other's siblings. I couldn't bear to lose his friendship but, as it turned out, I had nothing to worry about as he told me there was nothing to forgive. Duncan was a godsend too... I suppose that's how he and I ended up getting together really."

"What about Matthew and Sofia?" asks Mary. "How did they meet?"

"Her father was a Silk in a set of chambers in Manchester. He'd come over from Italy for university and never left though I know that Sofia was born somewhere close to Naples, hence the reason why she and Matthew married over there. She was a couple of years older than him and working as a clerk during the holidays which is how she and Matthew got to know each other. They lost touch when he went up to Oxford but, as luck would have it, their paths crossed again when he was training as a solicitor in London. They married and moved back to Manchester... the rest you know."

Mary furrows her brow. "Forgive me if this sounds like an impertinent question, but where does Matthew's money come from?"

Lavinia smiles. "I was wondering when you were going to ask that," she says. "And it's not rude, don't worry. Sofia was the only child of an only child, it was family money which passed to her on her father's death. She herself died intestate and so the money all went to Matthew. Reggie was from money too, not a lot, but there was still a bit. None of us knew just how much Sofia's family had but, needless to say, it's made Matthew a very wealthy man."

"Yet he still remains so grounded," replies Mary. "I've met men with less money and far less sense over the years... I'd go so far as to say he's one of a kind."

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That you liked him," Lavinia clarifies. "As in you have feelings for him."

Mary blushes slightly and looks down at her lap. "Yes, I do as it so happens."

"Well that's good," replies Lavinia. "Because he's absolutely besotted with you. He hasn't told me in so many words, but it's clear as day to anyone with eyes just how right the two of you are for each other and I only met you this evening."

In that moment, Mary decides she likes Lavinia - in fact, she likes Lavinia rather a lot.

**_-xxx-_**

After sharing a couple of cups of tea and even more stories about their respective childhoods and such, Mary and her new friend say goodnight to each other (or perhaps it should be good morning as dawn begins to break) and Mary finds herself treading the now familiar path back towards Matthew's bedroom.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she takes a moment to once again watch him sleep. He's somehow managed to kick the duvet down below his waist - he'd opted to sleep without a top on and Mary had to admit that she'd enjoyed the feeling of the fine hairs on his chest tickling the bare skin of her arm as she'd lay beside him earlier. She almost feels bad about waking him, but she's decided to make rather a bold move.

Matthew groans as he's rather rudely awoken by a solid weight on top of him, though he can't be angry when he finally realises that it's Mary, straddling his legs and pressing a firm yet tender kiss to his lips. "Mary?" he croaks, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"I'm sorry to wake you," she says, playing with his dishevelled hair. "But I couldn't sleep."

"And you woke me up to tell me this?"

Mary nods and leans forward to brush her nose against his. "I'm sorry for shouting at you before," she apologises. "I'm sorry for making assumptions before I knew the full story. I'm sorry for being so awful to you when you first arrived in Downton..."

"Mary..."

She silences him by pressing a finger to his lips, moving her hand after a couple of seconds to caress his stubbled cheek. "And I'm sorry for being so forward right now, but tonight has taught her that you really shouldn't be afraid of taking chances, for you never really know if you'll ever get the chance to do so again..."

"Mary?"

"Mmm?"

"Stop talking and kiss me."

She laughs and is more than happy to oblige him...

**_-xxx-_**

Neither is quite sure what time it is when they wake up, though they don't really care once the realisation of what they did in the early hours of the morning hits, the memories of the pleasure they'd found in the arms of each other coming flooding back. What little clothing they'd been wearing is scattered across the floor and the sheets are caught up in the tangle of limbs in the centre of the bed.

"It seems odd to find you in my bed," Matthew yawns.

Mary rolls over to look at him and smiles. "But very nice."

"Oh, as nice as nice can be."


	9. Caveat Emptor

_**So sorry for the delay - work and a couple of personal issues have kept me very busy. My writing really isn't up to much at the moment (as one reviewer said on my other WIP, I have apparently "jumped the shark" and so I can onlt apologise if that is the case) but this probably would have been hard to write anyway. This chapter opens up where the next section of the story is going to go - Matthew certainly is full of revelations, it would seem. Anyway, enough rambling, enjoy and let me know what you think :) x**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine - Caveat Emptor**

When Mary wakes again, she has no idea what time it is. To be quite honest, she really doesn't care either because she can't remember the last time she felt so content and relaxed. Burying her head back into the pillow, she can hear the shower running in the adjoining bathroom and only now does she realise that the bed beside her is empty. She wishes that Matthew would have woken her up but, at the same time, she's grateful for the lie in as yesterday had felt like such a long day which was both physically and emotionally draining.

Suddenly feeling herself in desperate need of tea, Mary stretches out her aching limbs before crawling out of bed and retrieving the clothes Matthew had loaned to her last night. Not caring that her hair is probably a mess, that last night's mascara is undoubtedly smudged around her eyes or that she might run into some of the guests who had stayed overnight, she heads down towards the kitchens. Even after everything that has transpired between them and the fact that this house used to be her own, Mary still feels as though she's walking all over Matthew's territory - it's silly, obviously, but he'd once joked that he was very particular about who he lets into his kitchen and, whenever she'd asked, he'd insisted that there was no need for her to help at all.

The kettle is almost boiled and there's bread in the toaster when Mary senses someone come up behind her and smiles to herself when she feels his hands on her hips.

"You're invading my personal space," he says.

Mary smirks. "Funny, if I recall correctly, you didn't seem to mind me invading your personal space last night... or this morning either for that matter."

Matthew laughs. "Well, when you put it that way, I think I can forgive you on this one occasion."He kisses her neck - his hair is damp against her skin and he smells of shower gel, shaving foam and that as of yet unidentifiable scent that's so unmistakably **Matthew**.

"I made tea and toast," says Mary. "I'm afraid that's about as advanced as my culinary skills get."

"It's the thought that counts," he replies, kissing her once more only this time on her temple as he goes to retrieve the toast from the toaster. "Butter or jam?"

"Neither."  
He rummages through the cupboards, trying to see what other preservatives he has in which might appeal to her taste buds. "Chocolate spread? Not Nutella, proper chocolate."

"No thank you," Mary replies. "I've always preferred toast dry. If you think that sounds odd, Sybil likes to put tomato ketchup on hers."  
Matthew shakes his head and laughs. "You Crawley girls are strange."

"Chocolate spread though?" Mary asks as she puts the milk back in the fridge. "You don't seem the type."

"It tastes nice on biscuits," he admits sheepishly. "A hangover from my university days."

Mary watches as he takes the jar from the cupboard and half a packet of digestive biscuits from another. "Is there anyone still here from last night?"

"No," Matthew replies, smothering one of the biscuits with chocolate. "I came down to see them off. A couple of them asked after you, but I told them you weren't feeling well. I think some of them are under the impression that you and I are together."

Mary looks over her shoulder at him and smirks playfully. "Well I can't imagine what could possibly have given them that idea."

Matthew moves back to her side and offers her the biscuit which she eyes sceptically. "Try it."

Mary bites into the chocolate covered biscuit - it's sugary and sweet and suddenly she recalls some long suppressed memory of she and her sisters baking with their mother on rainy Sunday afternoons when they were girls, the fruits of their labour appearing in their lunchboxes at school the following day. They used to fight over who would get to lick the bowl and you could always guarantee that their Papa would usually choose that moment to come down, shake his head at his daughters' bickering and then Sybil would help him make tea for everyone which they'd share once their cakes or biscuits had come out of the oven. It was a much simpler time, one in which they'd all been happy, and Mary can't help but wonder if she will ever rediscover that joy.

"It's... interesting," she tells him, offering Matthew the other half. "Nice, though I don't think I could eat very many. It might get a bit sickly."

Matthew points to his lip. "You've got a bit... just there."

Mary rubs at her mouth. "Where?"

"Actually, probably best that I get it."

She giggles like a schoolgirl with her first crush as he leans in to kiss away the offending chocolate. "You're ridiculous," she says when he pulls away. "Completely and utterly ridiculous."

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close to him, blue eyes meeting brown as he brushes his nose against hers. "Yes but, admit it, darling, you wouldn't have it any other way."

Mary swallows hard, his term of endearment and the way his voice seems to caress every syllable sending a shiver down her spine. She's never been anyone's darling before so she supposes that being Matthew's is a good a place as any to start. "Call me that again."

"Oh Mary," he smiles. "My darling Mary."

He kisses her again then, much more passionately than the last. They're completely lost in each other, so much so that they fail to notice that they're no longer alone.

"Oh, I do hope I'm not interrupting something."

Matthew lets go of Mary and blushes like he used to as a child when he got caught stealing biscuits out of the cupboard to give to Charlotte Curtis on Sundays after church. She was the first girl he'd ever fancied (they were only about seven or eight and it had broken the poor boy's heart when he discovered that she only liked him for the biscuits).

"Mother!"

"Hello, Isobel," Mary says, trying her best not to laugh at the look on Matthew's face.

"Mother, we weren't expecting you back this early."

"I'll leave you two to it," Mary says, stepping out from behind Matthew and suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious of the fact she's dressed in his shirt and boxers in front of his mother. "I'm going to go and get changed and then I should probably head home."

"I'll walk back with you," Matthew says. "I could do with some fresh air."

She smiles back at him before disappearing upstairs, leaving mother and son alone in the kitchen.

"Don't, Mother," Matthew warns as he begins to tidy up. "Don't say anything."

"I wasn't going to," Isobel replies. "In fact, I'm rather glad that the two of you seem to have got your act together at last."

Matthew's eyes widen in surprise. "So you approve?"

Isobel sighs. "Does she know?"

"Yes," he nods. "I told her everything."

"And she makes you happy?"

"Happier than I've felt in a very long time."

"Well then I approve."

Her son smiles. "Good," he replies. "Because I rather hope she'll be around for quite a while yet."

**_-xxx-_**

They walk hand in hand back through the village towards Crawley house, laughing about what had happened earlier in the kitchen. As they pass the teashop, Mary sees Carson outside and catches his attention, the older man curiously raising a bushy eyebrow at her. She smiles back at him, looking absolutely radiant on the arm of Mr Crawley, a man whom Carson hadn't been sure of at first but has to admit that he now rather likes.

"So whose approval do I have to get?" Matthew asks. "Seeing as how my mother has given her blessing."

"Mr Carson's obviously," she replies with a smile. "He was always something of a second father to me."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think my father would like you very much."

"And mine," she says. "You like cricket and rugby; I think that would have put you in good stead."

"Do you miss him?"

Mary nods. "All the time," she admits. "Sometimes I keep thinking he's going to come walking back through the door having been away on his business trips. I didn't want to accept it at first but I knew that I had to be strong for the rest of the family. I don't feel like I've grieved properly yet and I don't think I ever will. Does that make me a bad person?"

Matthew squeezes her hand and shakes his head. "Not at all," he replies. "People grieve in different ways but I did react quite similarly to you when it came to Sofia and my own father. The thing is though, I don't think any of them would want us to be unhappy. Quite the opposite, actually... and, as it so happens, I told my mother earlier that you make me very happy indeed."

"I'm glad to hear it," says Mary as they approach the gate to her house. "But I don't think we should rush things. Let's just take it one day at a time."

Matthew nods in agreement. "Well then, if that's the case, would you like to come to York with me tomorrow?"

"Any particular reason?"

"How does a first date sound? A proper one where I won't cook."

Mary laughs. "That sounds wonderful."

"I promise not to drive either," he replies, delighted that he's agreed. "Meet me at the station at ten?"

"I'll see you there," says Mary and leans in to kiss his cheek. "Thank you for a wonderful night, Matthew."

"The first of many, I hope."  
"I think I might just have to hold you to that."

**_-xxx-_**

A beautiful day dawns for their trip to York - the sun shines as they make the leisurely walk down from the station towards the impressive structure of the Minster.

"It's such a shame that it should be covered up by scaffolding," Matthew says as he gazes up to the heavens, commenting upon the intensive restoration project.

"Perhaps, but isn't it the duty of those in the present to preserve the past?" Mary suggests. "So that we might share it with the future."

"Like Downton?"

Mary nods. "Exactly like Downton."

"See," he smiles. "I'm learning. So where do you want to go first?"

"There are some beautiful little antique shops just around the corner. I always like to go and have a look, yet I never seem to buy anything."

They mooch around the tiny little shop for what seems like hours, picking out objects at random and swapping theories about the stories behind them. Down in the basement, they come across an array of various military uniforms. Playfully, Mary persuades Matthew to try on a red jacket which formed part of an officer's mess kit dating from around the First World War and decides that he looks incredibly handsome in it. They're like children playing in the dressing up box, laughing and joking and taking silly photographs of each other which they both swear under pain of death not to share with anybody else. On the way out, Mary stops abruptly and pulls Matthew back towards her by the hand as she catches sight of something in one of the cabinets they must have overlooked.

"Look at that," she says, pointing to a necklace. "I'm certain I've seen a photograph of one of my great aunts wearing something like that. I've loved it since I was a child, though I never thought it would be worth so little."

"It's the sentimental value that counts," he replies. "But it is beautiful, a real one of a kind piece."

Just at that moment, Mary's phone rings. "It's Sybil," she says. "I'll have to answer, she'll only pester me every five minutes until I do if I don't. I'll just be outside."

Matthew thinks that he could kiss Sybil for her perfect timing and, once he's made sure that Mary is completely out of sight, he calls over the kindly looking shop assistant.

"She's a lucky lady," the woman smiles as she places the item into a box.

Matthew shakes his head. "No," he replies. "I'm a very lucky man."

**_-xxx-_**

They take a late lunch at a charming little pub down by the river before catching the train back to Downton, stopping off close to the train station to pick up a bottle of wine to take back to Mary's where they collapse on the sofa after a long and tiring (though thoroughly enjoyable) day. Matthew had to admit that he'd been very impressed by her knowledge of and the stories she could seemingly pull out of nowhere about the conquering heroes of old and the ghosts and ghouls who are rumoured to haunt the city streets.

"Have you ever thought about pursuing history as a career?" he asks, looking down at her as she lies nestled into his side.

"And what would I do? Please God, do not say teach."

Matthew laughs. "You're an incredibly intelligent woman Mary..."

"But, let me guess, I could have achieved great things if I'd gone off to university and done something with my life," she says before taking another sip of wine. "At least that seems to be what some people say."

Matthew shakes his head. "Well I'm not some people," he tells her. "I actually think that you **have** done something with your life, even if you don't know it yet."

"But I lost Downton. I failed at the one thing that I was supposed to do."

"Mary, you didn't lose Downton," he corrects. "As harsh as it sounds, it was your father who lost it. You did absolutely nothing wrong and, in a way, I'm actually rather glad that he did."

Mary is a little taken aback by this and it's clear to Matthew that she's completely misunderstood him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," he begins almost shyly. "If your father hadn't lost the estate... I never would have met you."

Mary's lips curl up into a slight smile. "Likewise," she says quietly.

"Then I suppose I'm your consolation prize."

Mary sets her glass down on the coffee table and runs her hand across Matthew's cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. "No," she replies. "No you could **never** be a consolation prize... never second best. I haven't had many real friends in my life, you're one of only a few."  
"And I should hope we're the very best by now."

Mary nods. "Of course. I know we said that we're going to take things one day at a time but I've never felt this way before about anyone, so much so that I don't know how to explain it... I'm not very good at talking about my feelings, though I suppose I have my ancestors to thank for that. Our sort of people don't speak about things like that."

Matthew smiles, amused by her words. "Try."

"I can't," she replies with a shake of her head. "As I say, I don't know how to."

Matthew shuffles closer and brushes his nose against hers. "Then show me."

Their kisses are intoxicating - there really is no other word for it. Mary has never known true love before, but she does know lust and this certainly isn't it. Whatever this is runs so much deeper than lust and, when he'd exposed so much of his soul to her last night, she had felt another little piece of her heart melt. A couple of the boys she went out with when she was in school (and there really were only a couple) had called her heartless after they'd broken up and, for a time, Mary had believed it. Now she knows that it's not true at because she can feel that very heart pounding deep within her chest when he kisses her, race when he looks at her in **that** way and flutter whenever he flashes a smile in her direction. She doesn't love him, not yet, but she quite simply adores him.

"Thank you," Matthew whispers as they pull apart at last, foreheads touching as they prologue the physical contact.

"For what?"

"For being you. For helping me these past few months... for everything, really," he says. "In fact, I bought you something today." He reaches for his jacket and pulls out a small black box from the pocket which he hands to Mary. "I know you liked it and I just thought... well, I don't know what I thought actually."

"The necklace... the one like my aunt's," she smiles. "Thank you. Though, Matthew, you should know that I'm not the sort of woman who needs presents or tokens to be kept sweet. I just need this... whatever **this** is."

"You like it though?"

"I adore it," she assures him. "I'm just trying to let you know that there's really no need to try and impress me..."

"So, will you wear it?"

"I will," she replies with a playful glimmer in her eyes. "This and only this."

**_-xxx-_**

Matthew is woken the next morning by a horrendous buzzing sound which pulls him out of a deep and contented slumber.

"You have seventeen missed calls," Mary croaks, her voice hoarse from sleep as she stands beside the bed and holding his phone out to him. "Eleven off Duncan, five from Lavinia and one from your mother. I think they want you for something."

Stretching out his aching limbs, Matthew takes the phone from her and sees that it's Lavinia calling. As the volume of calls begins to sink in, Matthew suddenly feels incredibly awake and a part of him is terrified about what could possibly be wrong, his mind racing and reminding him of that awful night when his life came crashing down around him.

"Lavinia," he says as he finally answers. "Tell me everything..."

**_-xxx-_**

Mary finds him later that afternoon - he'd text her asking her to come up to the Abbey but Isobel had been the one to tell her where exactly he'd been hiding. The room is almost bare save for numerous portraits of various generations of the Crawley family, hundreds of pairs of eyes staring down at its occupants. Mary has never really liked this room, often feeling uneasy whenever she came in here - naturally, Sybil had adored it and had once declared it to be her favourite place in the whole house in which to tell ghost stories, said stories making Edith cry on occasion which had only given Mary cause to scorn her more for acting like such a baby.

"Caveat emptor," he says, his back turned away from her as he gazes up at a portrait of one of the Earls of old. "Let the buyer beware."

"I don't understand."

"Duncan's bankrupt... almost. Whatever venture he's been working on in New York has backfired and hit his assets hard. I'm so sorry, Mary."

"Sorry for what?"

Matthew sighs. "He can't afford to pay the contractors to turn the house into a hotel, let alone the three million he owes to me. I'm sorry because I don't know what happens next... I fear that Downton may be lost."

Mary is stunned - she could never have seen that coming in a million years, especially not after all the progress that had been made over the last several months. "But couldn't you just..."

"No," he cuts in, knowing exactly what she's trying to suggest. "No, I couldn't pick up the project myself. I don't know the first thing about this business and I'd need Duncan's contacts. To be quite honest, those contacts wouldn't touch him with a bargepole after all of this."

"I don't know what to say," Mary replies, toying with her aunt's necklace (she knows that it isn't the same one, but that is forever what she will refer to it as).

"Say you forgive me," Matthew says, turning to face her at last.

"What is there to forgive? This isn't your fault," she replies, walking to stand beside him by the fireplace.

"Lavinia feels betrayed," Matthew tells her. "**I** feel betrayed. Apparently he's known that he's been having some financial difficulties for quite a long time but neglected to say anything about it in the hope that he could fix it himself."

"Sounds familiar," Mary says in a dry attempt at humour.

Matthew sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he looks around the room. "Do you think any of them ever could have foreseen something like this happening?" he asks. "That their great dynasty would one day fall. That..." he stops himself mid-sentence, his wandering gaze coming to rest on a silver framed sepia-toned photograph on the mantelpiece. "This person here," he asks, pointing to a boy of no more than about eighteen or nineteen in the middle of a family photograph. "Who is he?"

"That's Granny's half-brother," Mary tells him. "The one who disappeared."

"Impossible," Matthew says quietly.

"How so?"

He looks at her then, his eyes wide with surprise. "Mary, this man is my great-grandfather."

Mary isn't sure just how many more revelations she can take as this one hast truly left her reeling for, if it is true, then Matthew Crawley is the long lost Earl of Grantham...

Not to mention her cousin.

To be quite honest, she's not quite sure which one shocks her more.


	10. Kissing Cousins

_**Sorry this has taken so long - I've been so busy in work that all I've wanted to do when I came home was sleep. If any of you are following me on Tumblr, you'll know that I've seriously considered giving up writing. That being said, I've made the decision that I'll at least try and get my two main fics (this and Something There That Wasn't There Before) done before I throw in the towel for good. This was such a hard chapter, purely because I've been struggling to find inspiration recently - I think it's just a nice little bridging chapter before the next part of the story starts to unfold. I know it might seem that Matthew is over what happened to his wife, but that's an issue we really haven't heard the last of. Oh, and I've also gone back and changed it to being Matthew's great-grandfather so as to make their relationship a bit less close. Enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think. **_

* * *

**Chapter Ten - Kissing Cousins**

Over the next few weeks, the pair find themselves unintentionally avoiding each other - Matthew has been running around trying to sort out Duncan's mess whilst Mary has found herself spending much of her time in London helping Anna begin the preparations for her forthcoming wedding. They never seem to be able to find a spare five minutes alone together, either being constantly surrounded by other people or awkwardly dancing around one another as they try to avoid speaking about the discovery that had shocked them both.

"Has something happened between you and Matthew?" Sybil asks as she finishes cleaning up the shop after closing time, her sister having stayed behind to keep her company. "Other than the obvious, of course."

"The obvious?"

"We all know you're together," Sybil tells her. "You've hardly been subtle about it. But, I don' know, there just seems to be something a little bit... off."

Mary sighs. "We just found out a couple of things that we need to sort out," she replies. "I'm sure it's nothing in the grand scheme of things. We just haven't had a lot of time to talk about it."

Sybil nods in understanding. "I'm sure you will. You have to... you're far too perfect for each other not to."

Mary laughs almost nervously - her sister is as optimistic as ever and, not for the first time, she finds herself wishing she could share that trait. She has to believe her own words when she says that they'll be able to work this out.

Because Sybil's right... they really do have to.

**_-xxx-_**

Once again, Mary finds herself back in London with Anna whilst John is working away for a couple of days. They had originally planned to go out for the evening, but the weather's awful and so they settle for a bottle of wine and a DVD whilst trying to come to a decision about the colour of the bridesmaids' dresses.

"I always thought I wanted navy blue," Anna says as she flicks through yet another bridal magazine. "But now that just reminds me of our old school uniform."

"Red," Mary suggests. "But a dark red seeing as how you're getting married close to Christmas."

Anna wrinkles her nose in that way that she does when she's not too sure about an idea. "Not everyone looks as good in red as you do."

"Who doesn't look good in red?"

"My cousin's ginger."

"Ahh," Mary replies. "Then I think we can rule out green as well."

"What about purple? I think that would look nice with white roses."

"I like it," says Mary. "Though what does John make of all this."

Anna laughs. "He doesn't really care to be honest. I know that sounds really bad, but what I mean is that he's already done all this once and he knows that I have no shame in admitting that I'm one of those women who has been planning my wedding since I was a little girl. He's said that it's enough that he's marrying me and that he'll agree to pretty much anything because it's going to be a day to remember regardless."

Mary smiles. "I never would have had him down as the romantic type."

"He has his moments. What about you though? I don't suppose there's any need to ask who you'll be bringing as your plus one."

"January's a long way off yet," Mary replies before taking a sip of wine. "Who knows what can happen in that time, especially when you consider we've only been together a couple of weeks."

"What's happened?"

"Nothing."

"I know when you're lying."

Mary sighs. "Can you keep a secret?"

Anna cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows - they've swapped many a secret over the years and each and every single one of them will be carried to the grave. "So there is something?"

Mary nods and begins to tell Anna everything - from the tale of Matthew's late wife to Duncan's bankruptcy and the shocking discovery they'd made about his secret family history.

"So... what's the problem?"

"He's my cousin!"

"A distant cousin," Anna protests. "Mary, you've been out with some real... shits, if you don't mind me saying. Now you find a genuinely nice man who is absolutely crazy about you and you're running scared."  
"I'm not running," she replies. "But I am... scared... a little bit, I suppose. But only because I just don't know what these feelings are, only that I've never felt them before and I don't want to lose him over something like this."

Anyone else would be stunned to hear Mary pouring her heart out like this but, ever since they were girls, Anna has been one of the few privileged enough to know the true Mary - a Mary who has feelings and shows emotion same as anyone else. "Then don't," she says. "And before you say anything else, it really is that simple."

Mary opens her mouth to come back with some sort of witty retort but is distracted by what sounds like the front door to Anna's flat opening and closing. The girls exchange a look and are about the go off in search of their mystery intruder but are pleasantly surprised to see a rather damp and dishevelled John who has arrived home early. Mary averts her eyes as the couple share a tender greeting and only then does she notice a second visitor.

"Matthew?"

"I found him wandering around outside," says John. "I let him in before he got washed away."

"I was a bit lost," Matthew adds. "I brought flowers. I don't know what the point was really, considering how they're ruined and I'm not entirely sure where you'll put them."

Both Anna and Mary have to laugh at the sheepish look on his face as he hands over a small bunch of brightly coloured gerbera flowers wrapped in soggy paper and which look like they've seen better days. "I'll get something to put them in," says Anna. "And then we can rethink our plans."

"You had plans?" asks Matthew.

Mary shrugs. "Nothing set in stone."

"I'm afraid I've ruined them," says John, hanging up his coat on the pegs behind the door to dry. "Though I didn't see much point in staying when we'd managed to get everything done."  
"And I'm glad you did," Anna replies with a smile.

"Then please, don't let me get in your way," says Matthew. "Either of us. Mary, do you want to go and have dinner somewhere? I'm staying at a hotel in town and there's apparently a really nice Greek place just round the corner."

"I... err..."

"Yes, she does," Anna cuts in before turning to Mary. "And not because I'm trying to get rid of you."

"But I haven't got anything to wear."

"You look fine," Matthew says.

Mary scowls at him. "Can I borrow a top?" she asks Anna. "I've been slobbing around in this one all day."

Anna shuts the bedroom door behind her and watches as Mary rifles through her wardrobe, settling on a white chiffon shirt to wear over the cami she's already got on under her cardi.

"I'm really not trying to get rid of you, you know."

Mary looks over her shoulder and smiles. "I know," she replies. "Though I would have left anyway."

"He loves you."

"What?"

"Matthew, he loves you," she repeats. "It's obvious. He showed up unannounced with a bunch of your favourite flowers, having wandered around in the rain just to find you."

"I'm no expert, but isn't there more to love than just romantic gestures?"

"Yes, but it's a start."

Just like she used to when they were teenagers, Anna sits Mary down at her dressing table, touching up her makeup and doing something that can only be described as pure magic, twisting up her hair into a simple, messy yet elegant knot at the nape of her neck. For just a moment, they are those two carefree girls again, talking about boys as if absolutely nothing else mattered. Thing is though, none of those boys had ever loved Mary...

And now she can't help but wonder if this one really might.

_**-xxx-**_

Having finally managed to flag a cab, they arrive back at the hotel Matthew is staying in - a smart little place in the city centre which he assures her has nothing to do with Duncan who, as it so happens, is the reason behind his unexpected visit to London and the seemingly endless amount of damage control that needs to be done in the wake of what happened in New York.

"You could have told me you were coming," Mary says, pulling back the curtain and peering out of the window.

"I wanted to surprise you," he replies. "Flowers and the offer of lunch tomorrow before heading back to Yorkshire. I had no idea that Anna's fiancé would be coming back early so, all in all, I'd say it worked out quite well for all involved."

Mary smiles. "Lunch would have been lovely."

"But we can have dinner now too," Matthew replies. "I don't really fancy going back outside in this weather, what do you say to room service and whatever's on the telly that will make us laugh?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea, but..."

"But what?" he asks after a moment's hesitation on your part.

"You're my cousin, Matthew," she sighs. "We can't carry on this way... it feels wrong."

"Wrong?" he asks, his brow furrowed. "Mary, darling, how can any of this be wrong? When I kiss you, when I make love to you or when you and I are together, just as we are now, simply just being allowed to live... nothing has ever felt so right to me in an awful long time."

"Matthew..." she sighs, running a hand through her fringe.

"If we hadn't found this out, it wouldn't have been an issue," he says. "We would still have been related whether we were aware of it or not so I don't see why it matters, especially not seeing as how I..." he hesitates then and tears his eyes away from her, unable to meet her gaze for fear of what he might say otherwise.

"How you what?"

"How I feel about you," he replies quietly. "I'm not going to say it; not here, not now, but I do, Mary, I really think I do."

Her jaw drops slightly at his sudden admission - it's not like Mary to be lost for words but, this time, she's absolutely stunned. Anna had said as much, but then she always had been the more romantic one, though to actually hear it from his mouth (well, not in so many words) is something else entirely. Not quite sure what else to do, she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss that says more than words ever could. It's a kiss that leaves them both breathless and, for the time being, is enough to make Mary forget about all her fears and doubts. She wants this, she wants **him**, and she realises how wrong she was to think that she could walk away so easily.

"I don't know about you," he says. "But I'm suddenly not very hungry anymore."

"Not for some things," Mary replies, running her fingers under the damp lapels of his suit jacket. "Though I don't think I'd mind skipping straight to dessert."

"Oh you rebel," he smirks. "I see my uncouth ways are rubbing off on you at last."

"Oh you have no idea."

**_-xxx-_**

Mary sits upright in bed, the thin cotton sheet having slipped down to her waist and her knees drawn up to her chest. He loves her - she knows this to be a fact now and, not for the first time, this is something she finds absolutely terrifying. Up until relatively recently, their relationship had been slow burning to say the very least - now everything has changed and everything seems to be happening incredibly quickly. She doesn't mind; in fact, she's very much in need of some excitement in her life but love, at least in the romantic sense, is an unfamiliar concept to her and the last thing she wants is to make a mess of it all, especially given the inevitable fragility of Matthew's heart after everything he went through with Sophia and his daughter. There's so much racing through her mind that it's impossible to sleep, something she's sure he's somehow sensed when she feels a warm hand trace the line of vertebrae down her back.

"You're cold," he says, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her to try and warm her a little.

"I'm fine," Mary replies quietly. "Just thinking."

"Anything in particular?"

"Not really... it's nothing to worry about though, really."

"Please don't shut me out, Mary."

"I'm not," she assures him. "I've told you before; I'm just not very good about talking about my feelings. Though, if there were something, I would at least try to tell you."  
Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Matthew drops his head to her shoulder and tenderly kisses her bare skin. "As long as you're sure," he says. "I saw a solicitor today, an old law school friend."  
"About what?"

"Several things," he replies. "Though I asked him about us. He understands family law better than I do."

"Us?"

Matthew nods. "Legally, there's absolutely nothing wrong with this."

Mary sighs. "I do wish you wouldn't discuss our personal life like that."

"I didn't," he tells her. "I told him that I'd come across some old paperwork where to cousins had married in the early nineteen-twenties. I said that I was curious to know if that was even allowed. We also talked about Duncan and Downton."

"Oh?"

He runs a finger under Mary's chin and gently turns her face to look at him. "I won't see it lost again, Mary. It might be mine by law, but it's yours by right. I won't rest until I find a way to keep it for you."

Mary runs a hand through is hair, still marvelling at just how wonderfully soft it feels beneath her fingers. "Thank you," she says. "But none of that matters unless I get to keep you too."

"My darling," he smiles. "You'll always have me... now come back to bed."

He doesn't need to ask her twice and, soon enough, they're both in that place where it's hard to tell where she ends and he begins. They are one complete person, body and soul, and just as Matthew said, nothing could ever feel more right...


End file.
